The Legend of El Diablo
by CSI Clue
Summary: Man VS Machine. Any bets on which will win? Beta'ed by VR Trakowski and Lovellama. I am grateful to them both!
1. Chapter 1

Now and then, Pepper forgot that Tony wasn't like other people.

She understood his personality, and had dealt with his moods and impulses for years; she even understood, vaguely, the science behind his genius and the genius behind his science.

But every once in a while Pepper found herself caught up short by a reminder that Tony Stark was to the average American what an atonal symphony was to Disneyland. That is to say alien, and unconnected, prone to receiving blank, disbelieving looks.

Like now. He had his face up against the window of the limo, and his intense stare had her feeling uneasy.

"You mean to tell me that people really do just haul their old stuff out onto their lawns and _sell _it?" he asked in a low, disbelieving voice. "Perfectly good stuff?"

"None of it is perfectly good, Tony," Pepper fretted, checking their itinerary on her BlackBerry yet again. They were already late for the Exposition, and this little side stop wasn't helping.

Over in the driveway, Happy was forking over a twenty, and the woman with the Kodak carousel slide projector was nodding and making change, pushing a shoebox full of film bits his way. Happy took the projector and the shoebox, making his way back to the limo with serene patience. He opened the door and handed over the treasures, his voice low. "Here you go Mr. Stark, one slide carousel complete with Mrs. Duncan's vacation shots for the last fifteen years. She says it's broken, so she only took two bucks for it. We need to move, sir—we're blocking her driveway."

"Good, Happy, thanks," Tony murmured, his attention now on the brittle and yellowing plastic appliance in his lap. "Two bucks, that's it?"

"Tony!" Pepper yelped as he dropped the dusty shoebox on her lap and proceeded to examine the slide projector carefully. "I don't want *these!*"

"Broken spring on the loader," Tony diagnosed, fishing in his pocket for a pen. He absently took it apart and used the long ink shaft to prod at the tiny, rusting spring as the limo pulled out and headed towards the on-ramp for the highway. "It would take all of ten minutes to replace, and I'm pretty sure I've got one that would fit."

"That's wonderful; you can do it LATER," Pepper told him, setting the shoebox on the floor of the limo and trying to brush the dust from her skirt. "And it will be the thrill of the evening to see the vacation slides of perfect strangers, now won't it?"

"Could be," he muttered, lost in the inner workings of the ancient machine. "So that was a garage sale?"

"That was," Pepper sighed. "A collection of old clothes, broken, useless, worn-out or superfluous junk set out for buyers to paw through. It combines housecleaning and free enterprise and *now* we need to put our new toy away and get ready for the Expo, Mr. Stark."

She gently took the slide projector from him and set it next to the shoe box. Tony reluctantly let it go and reassembled the pen as Pepper reached to adjust his tie. "Do they happen a lot?"

"What?"

"Garage sales," Tony persisted. "I'm out of the loop, not really having neighbors, you know."

"Um, yes, usually on Saturdays and Sundays," Pepper nodded. "Why this big interest?"

"No particular reason," Tony assured her, his gaze still on the slide projector.

Despite their initial tardiness, the Exposition went off without a hitch and Pepper would have forgotten all about the little pit stop except for two things.

The first was the projector and slides. Tony kept them in his hotel room, and actually _did _show her several of them, projecting the images on a blank wall of the suite. One of the nights, he'd ordered popcorn from Room Service, and she and Tony had spent a hilarious evening making up back stories for the slides.

"This is Norma and me at the Wisconsin Butter Packing Plant," Tony drawled in his worst imitation of an old lady while an out-of-focus shot of two grandmothers standing in front of a blurry building. "She hates me to tell the story, but when we got to the vats of whipped, ooohwwweee!"

"Tony, that's _mean!"_ Pepper protested, even as giggles bubbled out of her. "I bet that Mrs. Duncan's mother or something."

"Probably," he agreed, clicking on a shot of the Grand Canyon. "And here's where your idiot Uncle Edgar dug up the yard, trying to find that sewer line . . ."

Pepper couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so hard, because it _had_ been a fun evening—very nearly a date, if you looked at it sideways. Still, once they'd gotten back from the Expo, she assumed the slide projector would find a new home on some shelf down in the garage and the whole incident would be forgotten.

She was right on the first count and wrong on the second.

*** *** ***

The garage sale stayed in Tony's thoughts all through the Expo, and long after he'd repaired the slide projector he'd pondered why such a seemingly ordinary pastime would intrigue him, because on the surface of it, it didn't seem that it should.

He'd never had to sell anything in his life—at least not because of a lack of space or need of quick cash. Tony Stark had given away anything that was out of date or out of season simply because his philanthropic mother had instilled in him a sense of social obligation to do so. Pepper regularly weeded out his wardrobe and kept his shoes up-to-date; Jarvis was authorized to purchase and update all household appliances from cell phone to walk-in freezer.

Tony understood planned obsolescence; it was one of the fundamentals of manufacturing. Everything on the planet that was created by man had an end life. However, it was fascinating to realize that most people gave up on things well before they needed to.

It created a little personal paradox for him, and by the time Saturday rolled around, he called Pepper bright and early.

"Potts, throw on your shortest shorts and a baseball cap—we're going to make the rounds," he told her.

"Nothing in my employment dress code includes shorts, and the rounds of _what?"_ came the annoyed grumble. Tony could tell she was suspicious of any weekend call that didn't involve bail or Emergency rooms in the first few sentences.

"Garage sales. I'm going to take a look at a few, and I _know _you're not about to let me go all by myself, so---"

"Tony—you're kidding, right?"

"Wrong. I've got Jarvis plotting out a nice leisurely route through some nondescript neighborhoods, so hurry up."

He hung up over her squawk, judging that Pepper would be at the mansion within half an hour, and went to go find a disguise.

When she did show up, Tony was thrilled to see that she was indeed wearing shorts, although they were khaki, and modest compared to the ones of his imagination. She also had on a Lakers sweatshirt and her hair was in a ponytail.

Pepper was also staring at him.

"Too much?" Tony asked, turning around to show off his choice for the day.

"Terrifying," she admitted and giggled.

Tony sniffed. "Everyone's a critic." He'd chosen long black Rastafarian dreads and a rainbow colored knit cap, along with aviator sunglasses. Those combined with jeans and a raggedy Bob Marley tee-shirt effectively hid his familiar features fairly well, Tony was sure. He held out a hand to Pepper. "Keys?"

"You've got cars," Pepper protested, but she was still grinning.

"I have highly recognizable cars that would look very conspicuous at garage sales," Tony pointed out. "We're taking _your _car and _I'm_ driving. You've got the Jarvis GPS in yours, right?"

"You installed it yourself," Pepper reminded him, still clutching the keys. "And you drive like a maniac, Tony. Another ticket and you'll be _this_ close to losing your license!" She held up a thumb and forefinger only fractionally apart.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. I'll drive slowly. Let's go—my research says you're supposed to get to these things early for the best bargains."

"Your . . . research?" Pepper echoed, following her employer down the front steps to her Audi. "You're telling me you've done _research_ on garage sales, Tony?"

"Absolutely—the strategies, the psychology, the history—"

"Why?" Pepper demanded, reluctantly handing over her keys and climbing into the passenger side door. "It's aberrant, even for _you,_ Mr. Stark."

"Call it research into the American consumer psyche," Tony cheerfully told her, climbing in and adjusting the steering wheel. "By the way, you have cash, right? Lots of small bills?"

He hated to put the pressure on her, but Tony regretfully knew he could never write a check at a garage sale, much less one under his name, and his wallet currently held nothing smaller than a hundred dollar bill.

Flamboyance and anonymity were incompatible in his lifestyle, alas.

*** *** ***

Pepper didn't want to be intrigued, but found herself glancing at Tony periodically during their drive. He took a southerly route, heading into Santa Monica, through some middle class neighborhoods. It was still early, and she liked the peaceful feel of suburban life here; the happy sprawl of community.

They pulled up to a cul-de-sac and there were several cars there already; two sales in houses side by side were the big draw. Tony looked through the window. "Ahhh, I see some electronics faintly calling my name. Anything you're in the market for, Pepper?"

"Books, possibly. We'll see," she replied, not willing to admit a sense of anticipation. It had been a long time since she'd done something so free-spirited and mundane. Something just for the fun of it.

Tony parked, fitting the Audi nicely between a camper and a Camry, then climbed out, surveying the scene. Pepper moved to stand next him, feeling as they were starring in some madcap sitcom. "So."

"So, so, suck my toe, all the way to Mexico," Tony chanted under his breath and smirked at her before crossing the street to look at the tables on the driveway. Pepper bit back a laugh at the schoolyard taunt and followed him slowly.

There were three long folding tables lining the driveways, Pepper found herself moving to the one with kitchenware on it, delighted to see familiar tools. She already had several peelers and whisks at home, of course, but the cunning little silver butter knife with the ceramic snowman handle would be perfect for Christmas . . .

"How much is the butter knife?"

"Fifty cents," came the absent reply from a woman in jeans who was bagging baby clothes and sticking labels on them. "I used to have two, but the other one got broken in the disposal."

Pepper made a sound of empathy and dug in her pocket for change, handing over two quarters. Tucking her prize away, Pepper scanned the table for anything else, but nothing more appealed to her and she wandered to the next table, where a few boxes of knickknacks sat. She admired the fat green candles with impressed leaves and picked up a crystal bud vase, admiring the etched rose on it.

Pretty, but not needed, she knew. Carefully Pepper glanced around to see what Tony was up to, and blinked when she couldn't find him. Alarmed, she took a step and realized he was squatting down to look at a crate full of junked electronics, and was pulling out what appeared to be a bread maker.

She couldn't help herself and took a quick digital photo of him in full Rasta regalia before slowly making her way to his side. Tony barely glanced her way as he looked at the underside of the appliance.

"Heard the snap; I'm going to have to confiscate that," he murmured under his breath. Pepper shot him a challenging look but said nothing as he added, "So this thing makes bread? I thought that was a hand job—a _by _hand job, that is."

It was fun to see him blush; Tony didn't do that very often, and Pepper fought a rising giggle as she tapped the bread maker. "Welcome to the twentieth century, Mr. Stark. You might be surprised to know that technology has actually reached the average kitchen," she whispered as an elderly man came over and nodded to them.

"See you found Shirley's bread thingie, young fellah. Never worked right after she made that caraway rye. I can let you have it for five bucks."

Tony was going to say something but Pepper flashed a sweet smile at the man. "Ohhhh. Um, I have three, actually, sir. Would, um, that be okay?"

The man blinked at Pepper for a second, and smiled back. "Ah shoot, I'm a sucker for a Lakers gal! Three it is, and I'll throw in that old potpourri heater too, if you want it, sweetheart."

"Oh thank you, that's _so _nice of you," Pepper murmured, tilting her eyes down demurely. Tony watched in fascination as she handed over the money and collected the two appliances before following her back to the car.

"You . . . you _schmoozed _him!" Tony blurted in admiration. "Utterly!"

"I didn't . . . schmooze. I just pointed out that I had three dollars."

"--Along with several others," Tony grinned. "Oh you're _gooood_."

"I've been to a few sales in my time," Pepper admitted, "And haggling is a time-honored tradition, Mr. Stark."

"I sense I'm in the presence of a master," Tony intoned. "I'll keep my eyes open and see if I can get the hang of it."

"It's fun," Pepper smirked. "Although what we're going to do with a bread maker is beyond me."

"I'll fix it and give it to Platypus," Tony murmured. "He's the domestic type. So Jarvis, where to next?"

"2887 Summerset Drive, sir, a mere three miles from here," the AI intoned. "Loading directions now."

This sale was more jumbled, with items strewn on blankets laid on the lawn. Pepper winced at the naked, scalped Barbies and well-chewed plastic blocks that lined the edges.

Tony's eyes widened. "That's some hard use," he muttered.

"Loved. The kind term is 'loved,'" Pepper replied, although she wasn't entirely convinced herself. She turned instead to the shoeboxes of paperbacks and thumbed through them, finding a worn hardback copy of Centerburg Tales priced at a dime. She set it aside and found Homer Price a moment later, fighting down a little frisson of happiness at her treasures.

Tony was focused on a model rocket kit, a dangerous gleam coming through his sunglasses.

"How much?" Pepper heard him ask the man with the toddler in his arms.

"A buck."

"I'll give you two," Tony replied.

Pepper shot him a disbelieving look as the man gave a chuckle.

"You can do that if you want, buddy, but I'd feel bad taking it. The cone's crushed, and the cat peed on one corner of the box."

"How'd the cone get crushed?" Tony asked, and Pepper came over, fishing in her pocket for the money.

The man shifted the baby boy on his hip before replying. "Well . . . Janine—that's the wife—she put the kid's Christmas presents under the tree _before _I finished hanging the lights, and I sorta stepped on it while I was trying to get the last string of flashers up."

"Bummer," Tony commiserated. "Can I look at it?"

"Sure," The man shrugged. "Go ahead."

Tony lifted the lid of the slightly squashed box, being careful to avoid the yellowed corner and took out the flattened cone, examining it carefully. He picked it up. "I could fix this."

"Yeah? How?"

"Pry it open, get it wide enough to go over a baseball and hit it lightly with a rubber-headed mallet," Tony replied absently. "Or if you don't have a baseball, the average doorknob would be about right dimension. This cone's mostly aluminum, so it's pretty malleable, as long as you're gentle with it."

The man looked interested. "No shit?"

"Got a mallet?"

Two minutes later, the nosecone of the rocket was in reasonable repair and the man with the toddler was grinning. "Hell, that's great! Hey Charlie!" he yelled.

A ten-year-old bounded out of the house, slamming the screen door. "Yeah?"

This guy just fixed your rocket!"

"Yeah?" this was more enthusiastic, and Pepper watched as Tony carefully pushed the box back across towards the boy.

"Go for it," Tony murmured. "And don't put your eye out."

"Thanks, man. Appreciate it," the man with the toddler grinned.

Pepper paid for her books and moved to brush her shoulder against Tony's as they walked back to the car. They got in and she turned to him. "That was really sweet of you."

He shrugged, grinning for a moment under his disguise. "Hey, who am _I _to stand between a dad, a kid and a rocket, right?"


	2. Chapter 2

They went out every other weekend after that; it was an easy arrangement for both of them, and Tony enjoyed the adventure of it all, from arguing about directions and goods and prices to simply watching Pepper browse over the offerings yard by yard. It was a quiet joy to see her in a setting that didn't involve mega-mergers or deadlines or impossible requests; after the first few times she relaxed and smiled more.

Tony liked watching her. Pepper had grace and charm; she talked with children and listened to long-winded stories about old Christmas ornaments and unused crystal picture frames. Out of the office, she wore jeans and denim skirts and flat sandals that showed off her pale pink toenail polish. She looked less like an executive and more like a bohemian artist, or soccer mom with her cup of Waffle World coffee and sunglasses in her hands.

It had always been easy to flirt with Pepper, rather than go for real and meaningful conversation, yet it was coming easier with each Saturday, and Tony realized that after they spent a morning arguing about breakfast.

"Fast food is not breakfast, not a _real_ breakfast, anyway," Pepper told him. "It's greasy, and full of empty calories and low on protein."

"But tasty, and efficient for those of us with a lifestyle that puts a premium on time," Tony protested, after swallowing a mouthful of egg McMuffin. "It's a compromise—not always a great one, but seriously, Pepper, it's not like we resort to this all the time."

"No, only on Saturdays," she pointed out, sipping her orange juice, "and that's still too often. How do you feel about muffins?"

"Is that a hint for me to pick up the next Easy Bake oven we find?"

"No, but I might make some for next time, if you can pass _up _your grease-laden bomb there . . ." Pepper offered, and Tony paused.

Every once in a while Pepper cooked for him—not much, a sandwich here and a scrambled egg there—but this was different. This was something personal, and shared, and he sensed the offer wouldn't come again.

"Done. But no bran," he warned. "My internal plumbing is just fine."

"Banana," Pepper countered sweetly. "Maybe blueberry or cranberry if I find a deal."

"With nuts?"

"Sure, if you like them."

"Yeah," he replied, and pulled up to the last space along the neighborhood of duplexes.

Tony pushed his baseball cap down tighter and checked his reflection in the side mirror; today he had a pair of thick sideburns pasted on with spirit gum and a Willy Nelson braid that hung down halfway down his back. Pepper had pulled it twice, playfully and he kept it out of her reach now.

"Ohh, they've got tools," she pointed out. "And electronics. Guess I'll see you in an hour."

"Depends," Tony replied, but he was already focusing on the boxes stacked along the top of the driveway. He'd learned to take his time and not rush towards anything that interested him too quickly. Moving along carefully, he eyed the ten-speeds, the old prom dresses and finally made his way to the stacks.

Someone had loved cars, and Tony felt a rush of camaraderie at the sight of the wrench sets. The scent of motor oil and wiper fluid hung faintly in the air, legacy of someone who had put in quality time with his hands.

A thin woman in a faded Raider's jersey sat in a lawn chair, a cigar box of change and bills in her lap. "Mornin."

"Hey," Tony replied easily, his focus still on the tools. There were boxes of spark plugs in various sizes along with unopened cartons of headlights and wiper blades, and a few specialized socket wrenches Tony recognized as part of a set used by classic car restoration engineers.

"That's Danny's stuff. I probably shoulda put prices on it, but Gawd, I don't know what to ask for his things," the woman sighed. "Man up and dies on me after twenty-seven and a half years, and here I am without a clue about his shit."

"I'm sorry," Tony murmured, reaching to heft an oil filter clamp. "Was he a mechanic?"

"Best one west of Vegas," the woman nodded, lighting up a cigarette. "He could watch a car pass him on the street and tell you what was wrong with it, from a wheel shimmy to a stuck valve. Hated making trips with him 'cause he would tell me about every damn car we passed on the highway." The woman smiled though, and blew a puff of smoke as she did so. "And he was right nearly all the time, too. Might not a been able to fix all of um, but he knew cars."

Tony made a small sound of support and continued to look through the boxes. There were a few gauges he wouldn't mind picking up, and possibly one or two of the spare electrical---he looked up.

The woman was still smoking, but he suddenly noted the wetness on her eyelashes, the paleness of her face and a pang echoed through his chest at the lonely image she made.

Tony drew in a breath.

"Anything with a handle, ask at least ten, and don't give it up for under five. The boxes of parts should be from three to one dollar, depending. And don't let any of the sets go for under ten, period. Tires should be at least three, and any big parts—engine blocks, full tool boxes, dolleys, drills—go high and let them haggle you to half."

The woman looked up at him, slightly startled. Tony laid a hand on one of the gauges and spoke again. "From the look of it, your husband was good about his craft, so you want his stuff to go to people who will appreciate it."

She nodded. "Yeah. Could you, um say all that again? Let me get a pen—"

Tony carefully repeated his suggestions while she scribbled them on the lid of the cigar box along the edges. When she was done, she gave him a tremulous smile. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

"No problem. I'd like to pick up these—" Tony laid a few gauges out.

"Ten bucks," the woman grinned, "But since you helped me out—take 'em. From Danny and me, okay?"

Tony smiled and shook his head. He'd seen enough of the house and yard to know that money had to be an issue for the family. He set down the ten against her protests.

"So--did Danny have anything else?" he asked, feeling an intuition. So far it was all tools, but for a mechanic—a good one-- it never stopped there.

The woman blinked, and a slow smile crossed her face. She eyed Tony from head to foot, and seemed to come to some internal decision.

"_You _any good with insane cars, Mister?"

Pepper looked up as Tony whistled. He waved to her, and in a mix of annoyance and curiosity, she left the copy of The Waffle World Cookbook to come over to him. He flashed her a quick smile. "Ever see an insane car?"

"Any car _you _drive qualifies."

"Har de har har. We're going around the side of the house," Tony grumbled. The woman had called over someone to take over the cigar box and was stubbing out her cigarette as she beckoned Tony forward.

"I was going to get it towed—I wouldn't _dare_ donate it to some charity in case it . . . eh, you'll see," she sighed. "Come on this way."

Warily, Pepper followed Tony who followed the woman around the side of the house through a chain link gate into a yard that had no grass and a lot of gravel. There was a dog; a long low hound with droopy ears and a lot of slobber. The woman ordered him off—"go lie down Butch"—and he did, reluctantly returning to the back cement porch, draping his skinny frame on it with a small 'wuf' before settling down.

Tony's attention was on the green plastic tarp that stood out, draped over something in the yard. Something vaguely car-shaped.

The woman picked up one edge and gave the plastic sheet a flip, revealing the low, heavy and battered hulk. The three of them looked at it in silence, and Tony was about to say something when Pepper spoke up, her tone soft and reverent.

"Oh . . . my . . . God . . . that is a genuine nineteen seventy Plymouth Hemi 'Cuda!"

Tony blinked. He turned to the woman. "We'lltakeit."

*** *** ***

The look Happy shot at the monstrosity on the back of the flatbed tow truck wasn't; he glared at the battered wreck before turning to give Tony a long, sorrowful glance of disappointment. Tony kept his eyes on the car.

"You should have seen her. The minute Pepper saw it; she went weak in the knees."

Happy blinked, and moved closer to Tony. "Pepper?"

"Ohyeah," Tony nodded, finally shifting his gaze to the other man. "She knew what _make _it was, Hogan."

Happy's eyes widened. "You're kidding."

"Not shitting you. I was there when she went into that squeaky little girl voice of hers." Tony pursed his mouth and did a passable imitation of Pepper's tone. "Oh . . . my . . . God . . . that is a genuine nineteen seventy Plymouth Hemi 'Cuda!"

"That's . . . really disturbing, sir," Happy told him with a straight face.

"I know," Tony nodded. "Hurts my gonads to try and get my voice that high."

They both watched the driver begin to lower the flatbed with a pneumatic hiss.

"So . . . it's going in the garage?" Happy asked, his tone making it clear that all the other cars would be laughing at the hulk.

"Next project. By hand," Tony sighed. "Should keep me busy for a couple of weeks."

Happy privately thought it would be more like a couple of months; possibly a year, given the critical condition of the vehicle, but he wisely said nothing. Stark had a way with cars that he himself liked to think it was legendary, but Happy suspected it was half intuition, and half persistence.

Which wasn't a bad combination, actually.

"Okay then," Happy murmured, determined to keep his mouth shut.

*** *** ***

Pepper walked around the car, looking at it critically. She circled once, then reached out to touch the broad hood, passing a gentle hand over it, reaching under to find the hood latch. It popped open after a gentle tug, and carefully she lifted it, propping the support rod in place.

Tony fought an erection.

He knew he liked cars and he knew he liked Pepper; the combination of the two, however, was sheer brain Cialis; visual Viagra that was going to have him in dire straits before very long.

Pepper bent over to examine the engine.

Tony gritted his teeth to fight the whine rising up in his throat and the ridge rising in his jeans. Ooooh, that pert little backside, right over the front grille clicked into first place on the Fantasy file in his head.

_Exhibit One: Pepper Potts in a white thong bikini, luscious ass gleaming as she leans over the engine block. Note her perfect legs, showcased in platform Lucite stilettos; the exquisite muscle definition along her calves and the lean biteable curve of her—_

"Corrosion," Pepper sighed, bringing him back to reality with a jolt. "I can see where he was starting to clean—mostly on the battery contact points and some of the valves, but there's a lot of work here if you're going to rebuild this one, you should probably haul it out."

"Seven going on eight years, and only _now_ you're admitting you know something about cars, Miss Potts?"

"Seven going on eight years I've been watching you work on cars, Mr. Stark. I _have _paid attention once in a while," she replied serenely.

Tony eyed her uncertainly, not sure if she was being truthful or not. Pepper had the ability to say exactly what a person wanted to hear—usually—and he couldn't tell if that was the case at this moment or not.

"Why _this_ car, Pepper?"

She looked wary. "You have to admit the price was right."

Danny's widow had given it to them; thrust the keys into Tony's hand and waved away his stunned offers with a shake of her head.

"_This car can't be sold, Mister. Only given. Take it, and maybe you can get out of it what my man couldn't. Good luck and thanks."_

"True. But there's more to it, Miss Potts," he accused, watching her gently lower the hood and let it drop to latch shut again. She dusted her hands off and moved around to the passenger side, sandals clicking on the cement floor.

"I'll start getting parts catalogs and dealers rounded up for you," she murmured, peeking into the window. "I know Jarvis can do it, but for stuff like this, a personal call can make the difference."

"Yeah," Tony nodded impatiently. "But you're avoiding the question, Pepper, and you know that's only going to make me much more persistent in finding the answer."

She turned, and her expression sent a pang through him, because Tony could see the mix of emotions behind it. Pepper's smile was slightly crooked, but her eyes were bright; she shifted her weight from one hip to the other.

"Because this is a good car, Tony. And if anyone can get it back on the road, it's you."

The compliment stunned him for a moment, and Tony blinked, not sure what to say. Pepper wasn't the sort to hand out praise very often, and he was far more used to her jibes about his preoccupation with engines and wheels.

"It's going to be . . . a challenge," he acknowledged, heavily. "Going to need to be redone from the wheels up, Miss Potts—rims to antenna, hood to tail lights."

"You have the technology," Pepper teased, moving towards him. "You have the capacity---"

"—To rebuild the world's best muscle car. Diablo will BE that car. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster," Tony finished the Six Million Dollar man quote, grinning. "I'll need help though. Someone who will you know, cheer me on."

Pepper tipped her head. "Let me see—you built a miniature arc reactor _and _a prototype Suit in a cave without . . . cheerleaders."

"That was survival," Tony pointed out, his tone still light, but his expression slightly bland. Pepper flushed a bit, but Tony continued. "And anyway, this is going to be more complicated. I'm no expert when it comes to Plymouths, and since you seem to know more about this particular model than_ I_ do--"

"I'm _not _an expert," Pepper broke in quietly. "But if you want my . . . help, then all right. But only after I've finished up with anything else I need to get done first."

Tony perked up. In all the years Pepper had been working for him, she'd rarely if ever expressed an interest in assisting down here in the workshop, preferring to stay clean and uninvolved. He didn't want to overplay his delight, so he gave a small nod feigning disinterest. "Sure, I understand."

"And you can't boss me around then," Pepper continued serenely, "because I am _not _your PA when we do this."

"So what _are_ you at those times?" It slipped out before he could think, and Tony froze, unsure of what Pepper would say.

She shot him a shy look. "A . . . friend, I suppose."

"A friend," Tony toyed with that idea, finding a lot of appeal in it. He hadn't actually labeled Pepper as a friend before. She was so much more integral to his day-to-day functioning; a part of him like a limb or an organ.

Vital, and needed.

Taken for granted, he acknowledged guiltily.

"I know you're not used to women as friends," Pepper teased gently. "It may take some time to get used to the concept."

"I have women friends," Tony protested, and paused, trying to dredge up a name to back up his claim. Nothing was forthcoming, so he made a show of changing the subject. "And anyway, you'll need something a little less designer if you're going to be crawling under the belly of Diablo here. I could probably outfit you with a jumpsuit."

"I've got overalls," Pepper replied nonchalantly. "And my own can of Goop."

Tony pointed an accusing finger at her. "You've been holding out on me, Potts. You_ know_ cars."

Pepper shook her head. "Not to your degree. And if you think I'll get in the way---"

Tony shot her an affectionate look. "Are you going to hose me down with CO2 without provocation?"

"I hadn't planned on it," Pepper murmured, slightly startled.

"Okay then—you're not in the way." Tony assured her with a nod.


	3. Chapter 3

Pepper took on the challenge of finding twenty-nine year old auto parts with quiet determination. Most mornings she managed at least three phone calls to exotic places like Peoria, Petaluma, Passaic and Port Arthur, talking to a variety of people with interesting accents and a wide range of information. It was the sort of task she thrived on, and brought an ongoing blend of frustration and satisfaction with it.

Packages began to show up with regularity at the mansion. Tony was amused to find that one that was barely the size of his palm cost as much as a new home entertainment system, while one taller than Pepper was barely the price of dinner at the Malibu Grille.

"Vintage door locks are more expensive than vintage upholstery springs," Pepper tried to justify. "Unless you want to economize."

"Oh no," Tony told her swiftly. "We'll pinch pennies at the garage sales, but not when it comes to Diablo. Restoration, we go whole hog."

"I assumed as much," Pepper murmured, reassured.

"And we *are* heading out this Saturday, right? At least in the morning?" Tony probed gently. "I need my broken appliance fix, you know."

"Yes," Pepper sighed. "If you ever lose your billions, you can always open a Mr. Fix-it shop, Mr. Stark. Toasters a specialty."

Tony grinned. "You say it like it's a bad thing, Potts, but I happen to know you're *thrilled* with that BagelMaster Six Thousand I souped up for you."

"Souped up? Tony, I can thaw an entire leg of lamb in six seconds with it. I have to wear a welding mask just to look in the little window," she replied with a wry smirk of her own. "It's not a toaster oven, it's a countertop crematorium."

Tony winced. "Okay, so maybe I went a *little* overboard with the upgrade on the heating coils. But it works; you can't deny that."

"No, I think the huge scorch marks on my ceiling testify to it."

He paused to look at her carefully, not completely sure she was teasing. One of the beautiful things about Pepper—and there were many—was the way that she could bluff to a rare and serious degree.

Pepper's talent at pulling herself in, mysteriously and gracefully, like a deep-sea Nautilus fascinated Tony. It was the antithesis of his own overblown and gaudy personality that flowed out to every corner of the room. His mother had told him opposites attracted, and Tony suspected in this case, she was right.

"Seriously?" he finally asked.

Pepper giggled, quickly hiding it behind a hand, and he felt both relieved and annoyed at the sound.

"Just for that, next crock-pot? I'm going to build you your own smelter," Tony threatened silkily.

*** *** ***

The next sale, however, produced something more interesting than a crock-pot. Pepper winced as Tony squatted down to examine the towel-lined container, his expression curious. The little girl next to the box had a protective hand on it, and her stare made it clear that she meant business.

"How old are they?" Tony asked softly. He was wearing a Hogan's Gym baseball cap and thick white streaks in his beard today, along with a pair of wire rim spectacles that Pepper thought of as his grandfather glasses.

"They're eight weeks old," the girl grudgingly admitted, shooting an unhappy glance over her shoulder towards the house. Pepper sensed the tension, and empathized. Tony spoke again.

"Which one is your favorite?"

The girl hesitated, then pointed into a small, black kitten that was busy batting another kitten's tail.

Tony nodded. "Does he have a name?"

"Mom says since we're not keeping them, they don't have names," the girl mumbled.

"That's crazy—everything's got a *name,*" Tony murmured back. "Back at my house, my car has a name, and my computer has a name."

The girl looked at him a little more hopefully. "What's your computer's name?"

"Jarvis."

"And your car?"

"Diablo," Tony told her promptly. "He's a devil car."

The girl giggled, softening. She bent down and picked up the kitten, cuddling it close. "I call him Ace."

Pepper watched Tony nod. "Good name."

"When he was littler, his head was sort of pointed, so he looked like the thing on the cards," the girl said. "And he's all black."

"Makes sense."

"Would you like to hold him?" the girl offered, shyly. Tony smiled at her, and Pepper felt a hard pang deep within her at that smile. It was small, and personal and sweet; a rare gift.

"I would."

Pepper made her way over, watching him handle the kitten, who was immediately interested in climbing Tony's flannel shirt. The girl was on her knees, playing with the others in the box, so Pepper pitched her voice low. "Looking at mousetraps, version one point oh?"

"I like cats," Tony admitted. "From an engineering perspective, they're pretty efficient, and you can't fault their ability to take care of themselves."

"They're not something you can upgrade," Pepper warned, sensing a dismaying direction to the conversation.

"All the better to appreciate them," Tony replied, lightly stroking the kitten under its chin. Ace purred, then tried to rappel his way up Tony's shoulder; the girl giggled and came to help detach him.

"His claws are little, but they hurt," she admitted. Tony hid his winces manfully.

"So you've got to sell them?"

"Yeah. If they don't find homes . . ." the girl blinked a little and rushed on, "We have to take them to the pound right after the garage sale."

"How much?" Tony asked before Pepper could do more than make a distressed little murmur.

"Two dollars. But if you give Ace a good home, you can just *have* him," the girl admitted. "He's a really good baby and he doesn't eat much."

"We'll take them all."

"Tony!" Pepper blurted, feeling a huge rush of exasperation mingled with bemusement and a pinch of adoration in her voice.

He turned and for one unguarded moment he wasn't Anthony Edward Stark, billionaire genius. When his eyes met hers, he was just a man fondling a kitten's ears, and his steady gaze was impossible to disappoint.

"Really?" the relief in the little girl's voice was palpable, "You want all six of them?"

"Yep," Tony turned to look at her. "I . . . run my own business, and I've got some good employees. These babies will have terrific homes—I promise you that."

The little girl blinked, and Pepper could see she was torn between delight at the kittens' good fortune, and the pain of losing them all at the same time.

It was a hard moment, Pepper knew; one of those painful little doorways into maturity.

"Okay," the girl smiled, finally. "Okay."

And that was how Pepper ended up with a Smirnoff Vodka carton full of lively kittens on her lap as Tony turned the car back towards Malibu, his non-stop prattle filling up her annoyed silence.

"So I figure between all the departments at the main office alone they're all as good as adopted; I could put in a bonus for food and goodies and leashes---"

"Cats don't generally have leashes," Pepper finally broke in, her vexation evident. "Have you ever *had* a cat, Mr. Stark?"

"Personally, no. But my mother had one for a while, and our gardener did, and a girl I dated at MIT . . ." Tony murmured. "I *do* have experience with them."

"But you've never actually OWNED one," Pepper concluded with a slight scowl, "personally, that is."

"Not as such. But how hard can it be, Pepper? All six of them lumped together are barely the size of a pillow. I'm sure it's not difficult, right?"

Pepper turned her gaze to him, meeting his briefly before he looked back to the road, slightly chastened by her Sahara-dry glare. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

After a while Pepper sighed, already thinking of how to expedite the adoptions. "So exactly *how* were you planning on keeping your promise in regard to these fur babies, Mr. Stark?"

"Building-wide memo," Tony replied promptly. "With photo attachments of course, and free spaying and neutering, plus a generous toy, vet and food stipend for them—that ought to get the ball rolling, don't you think?"

"Not bad," Pepper grudgingly admitted. "Were you planning on throwing in any of those alarm clock radios, coffee makers or VCRs you've also rescued and repaired in with the offer?"

"Man—I was saving those as perks with the Christmas bonuses this year," Tony sighed. "You know, the touch of the common man amid my generosity. A sign that I too, am one of the great unwashed."

Pepper laughed, half at his audacity, and half at his charm; if anyone in the country could get away with tucking a huge bonus check inside a re-gifted appliance, it was Tony Stark.

"Don't you think that might be seen as being a trifle . . . eccentric?"

"Not any weirder than giving away kittens through interoffice Email, right?"

He had a point, and Pepper smirked. In the box, Ace was industriously wiggling his back end, preparing to make a leap. She reached in and petted him, distracting the kitten for the moment.

"I could let you have first pick," Tony murmured seductively, keeping his eyes on the road. "Since you're assisting me and all."

"No thank you, Mr. Stark. I spend far too much of my time at your house for a pet. I don't even have *plants,* anymore."

"You could have one here. Plants too, if you want," he counter-offered. "All the amenities."

"It's very generous of you. No."

This time Tony was the one who said nothing, smirking a little as he turned off along the private road that led to the estate.

*** *** ***

Three weeks later, Tony absently set Ace back down on the floor and looked again at the schematics for the gear shift on Diablo. It was difficult to fight the temptation to modify the car, to upgrade it into the digital age at the very least, but the refresher in old school engineering was good for him.

That's what Tony told himself, anyway. He rotated the official factory diagram ninety degrees and looked again, locking into memory the basic layout before murmuring, "Good. Okay, I want Diablo's schematics up, with the individual components colored in—blue for original, still working, red for replacements, yellow for what we don't have yet."

"Very good sir," Jarvis murmured, and the screen shifted color. Three parts were still in outline, and Tony glanced up.

"What's up with these three?"

"You have not made a designation for components without a discernible function, sir."

"Not following—what are you talking about?"

"These three items are not part of the original Plymouth factory specs, sir."

"Overlay," Tony ordered, his curiosity piqued. The screen shifted again to show that Jarvis--as usual--was correct: there were no corresponding parts in the original blueprint.

"Okay . . . weird," Tony murmured. He leaned forward, and felt a sudden sting of tiny claws along one pant leg; looking down, he noted Ace industriously climbing along his shin.

"Ow. *Damn* it, cat, what the hell ever gave you the impression this was a good idea?" Tony complained, bending to pluck the kitten off of his jeans. "Carpet tower, human leg—NOT the same."

Ace blinked, settling against Tony's hands and purring. Tony sighed, aware that whatever threats he made were useless in the face of such kitteny adorability. It galled him that he was completely unable to strike any sort of terror into the tiny heart before him.

"Grrr," Tony mumbled. Ace rubbed his head against Tony's wrist.

"Okay, stop that. Save it for Potts, because I'm busy."

Ace ignored that and began to lick, the raspy scrape of his tongue tickling Tony, who smiled despite himself. He sighed and set Ace down on the worktable, petting the kitten for a moment, then returned to the image on the computer screen. "Analysis—given the dimensions and locations of said parts."

"Calculating now," Jarvis replied.

Tony rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder and checked the time, wondering if he had enough to shower before thinking about getting something to eat. He glanced over at the kibble station and sighed.

The three little bowls were fed by a gleaming tower of tubing that was his own creation; a whimsical update of the old pneumatic tubes generally found in business buildings. Tony had installed one of thin Plexiglas that connected to the kitchen, right next to the kitten cupboard where the food and other supplies were kept. Twice a day, he or Pepper would load up a specially designed capsule with three servings and send it along; the tube would suck it down and open the capsule at the end, allowing the servings to trickle into the bowls evenly.

The only problem with the system was that Jack was a fuzzy little piggy. He generally managed to get to the bowls first, and chow down on not only his share, but at half of one of the others as well.

He'd try to eat it *all* the kibble if Tony or Pepper didn't stop him, his round belly getting rounder as he munched his way through the semi-soft bits. Jack's saving grace was that he was a mellow, loving kitty who didn't have a negative bone in his chubby black and white body, so it was difficult to chide him. He would amble over and flop in front of Tony or Pepper, fuzzy belly up, begging to be petted.

Sometimes Ace and Queenie would tag team to pounce on Jack, and Tony had witnessed some epic battles along the garage floor complete with stalkings, thumps, and piteous squeaks as all three kittens pounced on each other. Generally Jack was the peacemaker, going to groom either Queenie or Ace to calm things down after a while.

Tony couldn't believe how quickly he'd gotten fond of them.

"Two theories are available now sir, given the incomplete information and unknown nature of the components," Jarvis interrupted. Tony glanced again at the schematics.

"Throw them at me."

"The first theory is that a previous owner installed the unfamiliar components to enhance the vehicle in some unknown capacity. Records indicate that the prior owner was a mechanic of considerable skill and experience, so the validity of this theory stands at fifty percent."

"I'll buy that," Tony agreed. "Given what I saw of the tools offered for sale, yeah, he knew cars. So—the other theory?"

Jarvis seemed to hesitate a moment before speaking. "That the mechanisms are . . . organic."

Tony blinked. "Come again?"

"Organic, sir. Natural appendages supplementing the artificial construct of the engine."

Tony drew in a breath as his thoughts turned over this unexpected, illogical and yet intriguing theory. "I'm going to assume this is the ultimate 'out of the box and into the next galaxy' theory, right? Just short of telling me that it's technology from space aliens."

"Sir, I reiterate that it is merely a theory; conjecture based on limited information, but encompassing the known facts such as they are," Jarvis replied, a small huff in his tone. "I have been programmed to speculate based on the parameters you yourself put into my function, and therefore any difficulties you may incur in accepting my results are your own problem."

Tony was looking under the hood, his gaze on the engine block, his concentration elsewhere. "Did you say something? Never mind. Dummy!"

Obligingly the robot rolled forward, moving around Tony's flank to stand next to him. Tony pointed. "Mag light—there."

The blinding beam of light clicked on, hitting the spot indicated, and Tony peered down, focusing hard. He stared, moving his gaze back and forth, finally reaching down into the depths of the car. "Okay, this is bizarre. I don't *see* anything, Jarvis."

"Sir?"

"If there are engine parts in here that correspond to the diagram, then they're invisible, because I don't see them. I've been looking under this hood for the last month or so, and there's nothing here I don't recognize."

"That is . . . unexpected," Jarvis admitted. "If you will allow me to project the schematics . . . ."

Tony pulled back as the camera mount in the ceiling beamed the overlay of the schematics onto the engine block. In two of the emptier spaces on either side of the engine, the glowing outlines of the mysterious components showed up, highlighted in a ghostly green.

He reached out tentatively to the left.

He touched . . . something.

It wasn't there. Perplexed now, Tony let his hand spread over the invisible surface, his palm flat against the odd shape. There was a texture here, cool but not as unyielding as metal; pliant to a slight degree.

"Ooookayyy," Tony murmured to himself. "Freaky-deaky."

The sound of heels along the cement steps tugged his attention away from the engine and he watched as Pepper waved, tapped in her code and came into the workshop, a bundle of mail in her hands.

As usual, all three kittens scampered over to her. Pepper set her burden down and dipped gracefully to pet the trio, murmuring greetings to them before rising to head Tony's way. He watched, admiring her green worsted business suit.

Particularly the shortness of the skirt.

"You're *supposed* to be getting dressed and practicing your billion dollar smile for the cameras, Mr. Stark. We have less than an hour to show up for the end of the Long Beach Grand Prix you know."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved it away impatiently. "Pepper, come here and take a look at this."

Pepper reluctantly moved closer to the car. Yes . . . what am I supposed to be looking at?"

"You've seen the inside of Diablo as much as I have. What do you make of *this* and *this*?" Tony asked, waving his hand at the projected mechanisms.

Pepper cocked her head. He could tell that initially she wanted to give some flip answer and get him moving, but the longer Pepper stared, the more intrigued she got, and Tony appreciated that.

A squeaky and inquiring 'miaow' interrupted their contemplation. Queenie circled Tony's ankles rubbing hard. He scooped her up and held her against his chest, where she settled in, purring.

"I give up—are they already here, or are they something you're planning on installing?" Pepper asked.

"They're already in there—supposedly. Jarvis, projection off—"

Obligingly the AI turned off the lighting, and Pepper blinked as the two mechanisms seemed to vanish. She turned to Tony and reached out to stroke Queenie. "Okay I give up. What did you do with them?"

"Nothing. Jarvis says they're there, and I can *feel* them, but I can't see them. Very weird."

"Extremely. However, we have obligations we need to get to for the moment so we'll ponder the mystery a while *later,* all right?"

Queenie let herself be gently plucked from Tony and set on the old sofa; she washed a dainty paw as Pepper began to herd Tony upstairs, leaving the hood up on the car.

An hour went by.

Then, a small sound threaded through the semi-darkened workshop.

The very faintest of . . . wheezes.


	4. Chapter 4

"So Mr. Stark, was that Email serious?" came the chatty question from the leggy blonde handing out SI key chains at the booth. "About the kitties?"

"It _was_, um, Anne-Marie," Tony managed to sneak a peek at the name badge pinned on her expansive chest. It was worth checking out, and in the past he might have let his gaze linger, but not now.

"Ooooh, are there any left?" she cooed, sounding as if she was asking about cookies instead of live animals.

"Nnnnnno," came the truthful reply. Three of the kittens had been farmed out after careful 'vetting by both Tony and Pepper; the remaining three were now residents of the workshop with all the benefits and privileges therein.

Tony didn't want to admit to anyone how much bargaining and pleading on his part had gone into that arrangement.

"Oh too bad! I'm really, really _good_ with cuddling kitties! They _love_ to nestle right up in here!" Anne-Marie pouted, curving a slim hand towards her deep and generous cleavage.

Tony blinked, caught in the bizarre mental image of Ace popping out of her décolletage like some sort of furry jack-in-the-box, mewing indignantly over the tight fit.

"Mr. _Stark_." Pepper broke into his reverie, her tone arch. "The car?"

"Car? Oh! yeah, the winner. Check time," Tony nodded, and wagged a few fingers goodbye at Anne-Marie and her kitten-less canyon. Pepper gripped his elbow with more force than was strictly necessary as she guided him along. "Ow."

"I don't care if you _are _wearing sunglasses—staring is rude," Pepper huffed, steering Tony up to the platform as hundreds of cameras clicked around them, the flashes blinding.

"I wasn't _staring,"_ Tony felt compelled to contradict her. "Okay, maybe a little, but honest to God, Pepper; she _did_ have them out there, practically in neon lights—and why do you care anyway?"

"Be-cause, Mr. Stark, if you'd told her you had the other three kittens at home then she'd ask if she could come over to _see _them, and that would lead to all sorts of . . . com-pli-ca-tions," Pepper replied, striving to smile even as she lectured him out of the side of her mouth.

Tony sighed and picked up the huge cardboard check, which was a beautiful piece of art in its own right, complete with a flourish-filled facsimile of his signature in the lower right hand corner.

He presented it to the winner of the Grand Prix, making jokes and drawing in the crowd, doing it all practically on automatic. Twenty minutes later when it was over, Happy and Pepper hustled him out and away, into the limo beyond the roar of the Long Beach crowd.

Tony let his head flop back against the velour seat and loosened his tie.

"I used to like . . . complications," he murmured wistfully.

On the seat opposite him, Pepper shot him an unreadable look and he shut up.

The car rolled along in traffic, taking detours and passing through unfamiliar sections of highway. Night was starting to fall, and the weather had gotten foggy and cold. Tony held his hands out and looked at them.

A matched set.

"Organs," he murmured.

Pepper looked up from her Blackberry and blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Organic. Jarvis theorized that those . . . parts we saw in Diablo might possibly be organic and following on _that_ logic, that would, _could_ make those parts . . . organs."

"Organs," Pepper echoed curiously. There was a hint of a smile along the corner of her mouth, and Tony felt his own move to match it.

"Organs. What comes in pairs?" The minute he said it, he smirked, enjoying the wave of pink that delicately colored Pepper's cheeks.

She knew what came in pairs, certainly.

"Kidneys."

"Kidneys? Come ON, Potts—" Tony chided playfully. "Diablo has both an air filter and an oil filter—I can't think of any other circulatory mediums."

"Tonsils?" came her next offer, carefully avoiding any hint of impropriety.

Tony laughed. "If we think of lifting the hood as opening Diablo's mouth, maybe—but not too many living things have their entire guts in their mouths."

She gave an elegant shrug, waiting for him to state the obvious. Tony cocked his head and drew a breath before murmuring. "Lungs."

That wasn't what she'd been expecting, and Pepper blinked. Tony looked upward, at the roof of the limo. "Lungs. Enhancements to the air filter, drawing in more air for something than cooling. If they ARE lungs, then it's possible they separate air into its molecules and use the oxygen to enrich the fuel."

"Tony, you've been watching too many Next Generation episodes with Borgs in them," Pepper chided dismissingly. "It's not logical that a manufactured vehicle would have . . . lungs."

"There's a _lot _about Diablo that defies logic," came his counter as he leaned back and rubbed his chin. "And you have to admit, _something _is in there. Let's check it out when we get home, okay?"

But as they pulled into the driveway, Jarvis announced that a call had come in about a UN relief convoy caught in a mine field. Tony headed down and Suited up, taking off with the ease of familiarity, his repulsor streams trailing through the foggy night air.

Pepper watched him go, her arms full of Jack, her expression worried.

*** *** ***

Tony decided that landmines were the most insidious, passive-aggressive devices ever created in the history of warfare, and that Stark Industries needed to develop a way of detecting the most common plastics used in manufacturing them, pronto.

In the meantime, doing the repulsor version of Whack-a-Mine was getting old, fast.

*** *** ***

The storms rolled in, moving down the coast in a sweep of cold and fog, bringing with it chilly silver rain. For two days they pounded the windows and scoured the cliffs, drenching everything within sight and leaving a lingering chill through out the mansion that not even the central heating and fireplace could dispel.

Pepper fretted. Tony was due back soon, and although she'd juggled his schedule and was on stand-by, it was always an anxious time for her.

She worried that Tony was too fond of the risks.

He'd always been one to push the envelope; to glut himself on the adrenaline rush of doing the right thing via greater firepower. Pepper didn't try to pretend she approved of it whole-heartedly, but it was Tony's M. O. and always had been. The fact that he'd put some moral justification behind his zeal was good, but no less frightening at times, and Pepper stayed torn between being proud of him and being terrified for his safety.

She curled up on the sofa in the workshop, trying to type on the laptop, well-aware of the three warm little bodies piled up close around her in the semi-gloom. A few yards away sat Diablo still and quiet.

Pepper let her gaze flick to the car. There was something odd about it, and she looked over again a moment later, trying to figure out what it was.

Same rusted grille, same slightly dented hood, same curving windshield with a small crack in the lower driver hand side same—

She blinked and stared harder. From the rearview mirror hung a tiny gold rosary.

Pepper was fairly sure it hadn't been there before. She felt her skin prickle a bit, and froze, wondering whether to go look at it, or stay huddled with the Tiny Trio on the sofa.

Ace lifted his head and yawned, pink mouth and needle fangs flashing in the dim light. The simple reality of that sight grounded Pepper, and she snorted, feeling more sure of herself. This was the workshop, set in concrete both literal and metaphorical; there was nothing here in the least bit spooky.

She rose before her nerve failed, and locked her eyes on Diablo. "Okay, let's have a look," Pepper said.

Carefully, step by step she moved towards the car, trying to be nonchalant. As Pepper drew near, she felt an odd tingle in the air and looked up, checking the air conditioner vents, but they were silent.

Nevertheless, the slightly eerie feeling persisted, like a brush of hair across her skin, and Pepper hesitated, caught between pushing onward or retreating again. She took a deep, stabilizing breath and leaned down, reaching through the driver's side window to touch the little gold cross.

It was cool to the touch, and Pepper examined it in the low light, noting the filigree craftsmanship. She ran a gentle thumb over it. For a moment nothing happened, and then, faintly, the scent of cinnamon drifted past her nose.

Pepper froze.

For a long moment she stayed perfectly still, not blinking, not moving. A few seconds ticked by, and then the low and distant rumble of thunder broke the spell. Pepper let go of the crucifix with a jump, and drew in a sharp breath.

Jarvis spoke. "Mr. Stark's ETA is two minutes."

"Th-thank you, Jarvis," Pepper murmured and she scooted away from Diablo, not looking back at the car. "Lights please."

Obediently the AI turned up the workshop lights. Queenie skittered away to the comfy basket near the stairs while Ace and Jack blinked lazily at the brightness.

Tony dropped in with less grace than usual, thunking onto the concrete, his tired voice tinny through the amplifiers. "Suit off. Jarvis, draw a bath, pronto. Potts, stand back; you're not going to like the smell."

Pepper grinned despite herself and moved closer anyway, watching the dismantlers work to take Tony out of his armor. When the helmet came off her smirk deepened; his hair was a tangled mess, somehow sexier than when he had it nearly combed and clean.

"Warning you. I'm . . . ripe," Tony muttered. "To the extreme."

"Maybe we ought to tuck one of those little pine tree air fresheners inside your suit."

"I'd need the entire Great Northwest at the moment," Tony sighed, reaching to rub the back of his neck. "Next dismantling project, Miss Potts—land mines. I'm thinking of using satellites to map and pinpoint the damned things for easier disposal."

"Commendable," Pepper murmured, rubbing her nose a little. "Not to hustle you out of here when you're so obviously tired, but—"

"—but the eau de eww is getting to you too," Tony snorted. "Try flying in it. I'm sure I'll need to replace the air filters in the armor. Bath. I'll be back in twenty, so don't go anywhere, all right?"

It was closer to sixty, but Pepper didn't mind. The reassurance that Tony was home and still in one piece made it easier to concentrate on her laptop, and when she heard him coming back down the stairs without his usual bounce, she smiled to herself.

He had a towel around his shoulders, and his hair was still wet, but the kittens still came over to him, sniffing at his bare feet. Tony scooped up Jack, who purred like a motor. "Hello, chubby," Tony murmured affectionately. "Guarding those kibble bowls good, are you?"

Jack purred louder, eyes closing as Tony stroked him and came over to where Pepper was rising from the sofa. "Have you eaten?"

She looked startled. "Isn't that something I'm supposed to ask _you_?"

"Thought I'd beat you to the punch," Tony admitted. "Jack here says you're starving him."

"Riiiight,"

Tony gently cupped the kitten's head. "Would this face lie? Please—the boy's on the verge of keeling over. I'm thinking Mac and cheese would be good for all three of us right about now."

"Cats do NOT need macaroni and cheese," Pepper protested, but moved to the kitchenette and opened a cupboard. Several blue boxes were there and she took one down, moving through the steps with the ease of familiarity. "You're going to want--"

"—double cheese, yep," Tony grinned. "Don't lie; you love it too."

Pepper did. She filled a saucepan and set it to boil on the hotplate, and checked the fridge for milk as Tony settled himself down on the sofa with a groan. "Ohh, we're all domestic now. I blew up land mines, today honey. Anything interesting happen here while I was gone?"

"Diablo grew a necklace," she replied flippantly. "Unless you were the one to have him blessed."

She looked over from the pot; Tony's arched eyebrow was a wordless question, so Pepper pointed with her chin. "Take a look—on the rearview mirror."

Groaning softly, Tony rose off the sofa and lumbered over to Diablo while Pepper checked the water and added the noodles to it. She gave them a stir.

"Necklace?"

"A rosary."

"Nope."

Pepper looked up, exasperated, but Tony was in the driver's seat, staring up at the mirror, his expression serious. She stirred the noodles then set down the spoon and went over to the car, her gaze on the mirror.

There was nothing there.

Confused, Pepper reached up to touch the stem and the mirror under it, her fingers running along the edges. "It was _right _here, Tony!"

"What did it look like?" he asked, and Pepper noted there was no scoffing in his tone; no doubt.

"Well . . . it was little and gold. Filigree."

"Gold?"

"Yes," Pepper murmured, looking down at Tony, who had cocked his head thoughtfully. "Does that _mean_ something?"

"That it was expensive?"

"Don't be flip," Pepper chided. "I'm telling you it was _right_ there. I _touched _it."

"I believe you," Tony murmured softly. "And the noodles are boiling over."

Pepper gave a sigh and moved back to the hotplate, impatiently pulling the saucepan off of it and stirring the noodles with more force than necessary. Behind her she heard Tony climb out of Diablo again, his footsteps soft on the concrete. Pepper drained the noodles, added the two packets of powdered cheese, milk and butter, then stirred it up. "I don't make things up. I know what I saw and _felt,_ Tony. It was real and it was there. Maybe Jarvis has it on the house surveillance video . . ."

She turned, pot in hand, ready to face Tony's expression, whatever it might be.

He was sound asleep, sprawled on the sofa, kittens already settling in on his stomach and on either side of his head as he snored, softly.

Pepper sighed, and pulled out a Tupperware container.

*** *** ***


	5. Chapter 5

She set Jarvis on a search, judging that the AI would have more time, more capacity and more patience to seek out the information she wanted. Given his connections and parameters, Pepper expected it would be a matter of minutes for Jarvis to pull up Diablo's history.

It took two days, and by the time the final report was compiled and offered up to Pepper, she blinked at the length of it, scrolling through the pages on her laptop with a growing sense of amazement. "_How_ many owners has this car had, Jarvis?"

"By the strict definition of persons in legal possession of the vehicle title, six, Miss Potts. However, in terms of physical possession, no fewer than thirteen persons have been linked to this particular Plymouth."

"That's not a lucky number," she murmured facetiously, "why so many?"

"I cannot quantify a specific reason; however, there are some commonalities among them that seem to indicate an inability to control the vehicle."

"They couldn't drive it?" Pepper mused, leaning back on the sofa.

"The reasons listed are myriad, and include that along with difficulties in ignition, steering, de-ignition, temperature control and . . . radio," Jarvis continued quietly. "In many instances, the persons involved were competent drivers and mechanics who failed to pinpoint any obvious problems or defects within the engine _or _body of the car."

"So you're implying its got a mind of its own?" came the facetious question.

There was a thoughtful pause, and Pepper looked up to the ceiling. "Jarvis?"

"Your phrasing, while tongue in cheek, may very well be accurate, Miss Potts," the AI admitted. "I have proposed a theory to Mr. Stark that the vehicle may in fact have semi-organic components that are factors in the performance or lack thereof."

"Semi-organic?" Pepper tried unsuccessfully to laugh. "We're getting into science fiction here, Jarvis. I accept that _you _have exceptional intelligence, and that Tony is a genius when it comes to many aspects of technology, but nobody's managed to fuse organic and inorganic material just yet."

"I respectfully disagree, Miss Potts. Modern medicine is full of such achievements. Mr. Stark's arc is a prime example."

"Okay, you have me there," she admitted, her gaze returning to the computer screen. "So Danny De La Cruz was the previous owner—who was the first?"

"The first owner of record was David Hamilton, of Michigan, who had the vehicle for less than a year. Then Ian Kolfax owned it, as you can see, then Andrew Coznowski, Bernard Weinman, Lawrence Matufosky and Oscar LaPrete. The first letters of their first names spell out---"

"--Diablo," Pepper mused, a little disconcerted. "Coincidence."

"In any other context I would agree, Miss Potts; however, it bears noting when combined with the other odd issues surrounding this vehicle."

"I never thought of you as superstitious, Jarvis."

"I am not. I _am_, however, programmed to find patterns," the AI pointed out serenely. "And recurring patterns within a single anomaly factor out coincidence on an inversely proportionate scale."

"Hmm," Pepper murmured noncommittally as the rumble of thunder in the distance forewarned of another incoming storm. She looked over the record again. "No accidents, no engine trouble? That's got to be unusual for a car this old."

"Another anomaly. Although many of the drivers have complained about the vehicle, none have listed any actual mishaps. The most common complaint is an inability to . . . control the Plymouth."

Pepper looked at the last listed owners on the list. "Danny, then his widow Ilene . . That's a D and an I . . . and Tony's name is actually Anthony . . . are we seeing a repeat of the name?"

"The odds of that being a coincidence are approximately eighty-four thousand three hundred and seventeen to one, Miss Potts."

Pepper pursed her lips and set the laptop down. "Okay, I'm a little . . . spooked. Did you find any footage of a rosary?"

"Regrettably, the cameras were not angled to provide any information on said rosary," Jarvis admitted.

Pepper drew in a breath. "Maybe it would be better if we just got rid of the car."

Even as she said it aloud, Pepper knew she couldn't do it. Tony was caught up in the challenge of Diablo now, and even she herself hated to see all the time and money invested in it go to waste. Already the new windshield glass was on order, and the door locks were installed.

Outside, a flash of lightning lit the sky for a moment and faded.

Despite all the odd happenings around the car, Pepper didn't feel particularly . . . threatened. Wary, yes, and a little spooked, but not in danger.

Before Jarvis could make any reply to her suggestion, Pepper heard her name called on the house intercom. "Pepper, do you know how to do the Heimlich on a cat!?"

"What?" she rose and moved towards the stairs for the workshop.

"Heimlich. Queenie's choking!" Tony called, his voice sharp. "She won't let me catch her---"

Pepper sped up, clattering down the stairs, staring through the glass wall. Tony was still in his linen Blanco Torrido power suit with the Hugo Boss tie and she winced at the sight of him on his hands and knees, peering under Diablo.

She hurried in and heard a hurking sound; high-pitched, but familiar to her. Stopping, Pepper dropped her hands to her hips. "Tony, get up!"

"She's choking! What the hell is she choking on? Kibble?" he growled, sweeping one arm under the car.

"Queenie's not choking, she's coughing up a hairball, Mr. Stark. It's a common occurrence with cats. You're ruining the knees of your trousers."

Tony looked up over his shoulder, his suspicion evident. "A hairball?"

A wet splatting noise sounded from under the car, and Queenie skittered out, looking annoyed. Tony moved to chase her, then peered back under the car. "Oh damn, that's _nasty_!"

"Looks like a wet, dead mouse?" Pepper smirked, not bothering to check.

Tony nodded. "All sort of urk-colored, too. This is worse than the litter box."

"*You* don't clean the litter box; Butterfingers does," Pepper protested.

"I had to supervise the first few times," Tony protested hotly, "not that their mini-Almond Roca is all that fascinating."

"Almond . . . oh _that's _nasty," Pepper sighed, fighting a grin. Tony had a way of phrasing things that was hard to ignore sometimes. "Let me get a broom and we can sweep it out."

Another flash of lightning flared, followed by a distant, low 'boom" and the lights of the workshop dimmed for three seconds before coming back on more brightly. Tony rose up and glanced at the ceiling. "Jarvis?" he questioned.

"A lightning strike has hit a transformer three point two miles away and incapacitated part of the Malibu power grid; compensating with backup generators now."

"Okay, keep me informed if there's any—"

Tony didn't get to finish. A second strike flared through the limited window space of the garage glass, blindingly white, followed by the heavy sizzle of ozone, burnt wire and ash. Pepper didn't scream; she yelped, and dropped the metal handled broom , letting it clatter against Diablo's door just as a hissing ball of fuzzy red light streaked down the metal frame of the wall and flew to hit the car with a crackling *SNAP* that rocked the room.

Tony threw himself over Pepper; it was instinctive and quick, and he pinned her to the floor in a slam of knees and forearms, his back braced to take . . . whatever.

There was a sudden silence, and then the defiant hiss of three arching kittens filled the room. In a quick glance Tony spotted Queenie and Ace up along the top of the kitchenette cabinets, and Jack huddled in a nest of shop towels, his chubby form all the fluffier through static and terror.

"Oh my God, what _was_ that?" came Pepper's muffled question as she tried to shift under him and brush the hair out of her face. Tony wasn't sure he wanted to get up just yet.

Fear had nothing to do with his reluctance.

"Ball lightning," he and Jarvis chimed together.

"What?"

Tony let Jarvis do the explaining while he himself rolled off Pepper—reluctantly, he acknowledged—and helped her up. As the AI rattled through a complex description of the phenomenon, Tony brushed himself off and then brushed Pepper off, lingering a bit on the parts he liked best.

She caught his hand and shot him a look. "Yes, Jarvis, but why did it pop up _here?"_ Pepper was already moving to reach for Queenie and Ace, who were reluctant to come down from their lofty perches.

"Given the number of attractors within the immediate area—"Jarvis began, but Tony cut him off quickly.

"Later. Right now I want to see if the car's okay." He cautiously approached Diablo and reached out a hand to the door panel on the driver's side, touching the spot where the ball lightning had hit.

The metal door tingled slightly under his fingers, and was warm to the touch as well. Tony laid his palm on it, looking at the into the car's interior and absently admiring how the restored white leather seats looked when it dawned on him that the panel had moved ever so slightly.

He shifted his gaze to the panel and hesitated. Pepper came over, cuddling Queenie, who was living up to her name as she settled in and tried to look aloof. Under Pepper's gentle petting it was difficult to hold out though, as the tiny motorboat purr sounded out.

"Is it damaged?" Pepper asked quietly, her tone concerned.

"I don't think so . . ." Tony murmured. He slid his hand along Diablo's side, moving towards the back of the car in a long stroke.

Immediately, the long low rumble of the hemi filled the garage for a moment, dropping in volume to a faint, mechanical purr that vibrated off the garage floor.

Both Tony and Pepper jumped back, colliding for a second and making Queenie squeak indignantly as they jostled her. Pepper had clapped her free hand over her mouth in astonishment; Tony stared at Diablo. "What. The. Hell?"

"Oh Tony—did the lightning . . . turn it on? The engine I mean, just ignition it up like that, oh don't touch it!" Pepper babbled, tightening her grip on Queenie.

Tony barely heard her. He shifted around to the front of Diablo and stared at the grille for a long moment, his attention laser sharp on the car. Cautiously he let his hand touch the chrome, and even before his fingers made contact, Tony _felt _the heated air lightly cross his hand.

It was . . . an exhalation.

He tried to fathom that.

A breath.

More than one, in fact as a second soft sigh hit his palm. Before he could think about it, Tony touched the grille very gently, and the hot air increased, becoming deeper. He heard the draw, and his skin crawled as Tony realized that Diablo

Was

Sniffing

him.

He stood still, the surrealism washing over him in one wave of shifted reality. Tony knew where he was, what he was and how he was—those were constants. What existed beyond those three fixed points was now breathing against his hand. His slightly trembling hand.

Tony cleared his throat. "Nice car. Niiiiice car--"

Pepper stepped over to him, her gaze locked on his face. "Tony?" came her slightly panicked whisper.

He flashed her a quick smile, keeping his eyes firmly on Diablo. "So, Miss Potts—ever see Frankenstein?"

"Tony, what are you talking about? Movies? What's going on?" Pepper shot back.

He reached out and carefully herded Pepper behind him, sweeping his free hand to guide her away from Diablo's grille. "Oh nothing . . . just a sort of um, critical scene in that particular story that involved lightning and organic components and juuuuust a little bit of reanimation."

"Re--?" Pepper questioned, trying to peer around Tony's shoulder, "—animation?"

"Re-animate: To restore to life or resuscitate, Miss Potts. To give fresh vigor, spirit or courage to," Jarvis helpfully interjected.

"Restore to . . . no, it's a car!" Pepper protested. "It's not . . . alive!"

"Jarvis, scan the car, focusing on those unexplained components please," Tony ordered tersely. The chuffing against his hand was getting heavier, and Tony felt a sense of . . . dampness to it as well.

"Sir, I am getting readings that indicate that said components are . . . functioning. Two are in correlation with the air intake, and the other--"

"—Is circulating fluids," Tony interrupted. "Lungs and heart. Holy shit. We _did _just jumpstarted Diablo to life."

"We?" Pepper hissed, eyebrows going so high that the disappeared into her bangs. "There's no _we _here Tony! You _saw!_ The lighting, and the storm . . ."

" . . . and the hairball," Tony laughed humorlessly. "Think I should change my name to Victor?"

"What?" Lost, Pepper stared at him, and clutched Queenie more tightly. "Tony, what are you talking about?"

"Frankenstein—the doctor. That was his name. Didn't you ever see the movie?"

"No," Pepper replied, and would have said something more, but at that moment, another low, quick rumble came from the vehicle in front of them, and the gust blew bits of carbon through the grille all over her skirt and Tony's pants.

"Gesundheit," she automatically blurted, and Tony began laughing, his snorts more hysterical than humorous.

"Potts . . . he . . . and then you . . . . Gesundheit . . ." he cackled in a slightly panicked tone.

"Tony—"

And then Queenie leaped from her arms onto the car's hood, making a little 'thump' as she landed.

Diablo purred.


	6. Chapter 6

Pepper wasn't sure how she and Tony managed to get through the next few days without laughing hysterically every time they saw each other. It was one thing to have a game face for the press and the world at large; certainly the day to day workings of both Stark Industries and Iron Man justified the ones they'd managed for so long.

But having a sentient car . . . .

That took some adjusting to.

To put it mildly.

Pepper had had pets in her lifetime. More of them than Tony had, anyway, from her first grade turtles, Suzie and Alphonse, all the way through a succession of teddy bear hamsters, guinea pigs, rabbits and dogs until her first day at college, when she'd had to leave her elderly Golden Retriever, Herbie, at home with her parents. She'd shed a few tears and given him a last squeaky toy, knowing her mother would baby him for his remaining years.

She was good to her pets, and loved them, receiving much comfort and joy from their presence in her life, even if it was only the sound of a squeaky wheel while she was doing homework or a warm weight in her lap as she read. Pets were a source of love and support, and it was a shame she didn't have time for any in her life at Tony Stark's personal assistant.

Except now, of course, since she had three kittens to look after, and oh yes, an anthropomorphic car, although to be fair, Jarvis was _sort_ of a pet in that he was good company and often amusing.

At least he didn't require a litter box or oil changes.

Diablo was . . . well, Diablo. He was still a car; still quiet when alone, sleek and shiny, still smelled of vinyl and Turtlewax, but there was a faint aura to him now, and his panels and hood were always warm to the touch, even when his engine was off. Pepper, who'd seen the movie 'Christine' at an impressionable age was still a little leery of Barracuda, and tried to keep from turning her back on him whenever she went down to the workshop.

The kittens adored him. Queenie, Jack and Ace climbed on Diablo, had mock battles for king of the convertible top, and generally scampered and lounged all over him as if he was a piece of furniture expressly built for their amusement. Tony too, was comfortable with expressing a degree of affection to the car that Pepper had only noted previously with certain tools and occasionally body parts, not that he'd ever admit it.

Still, it hadn't been difficult to shift from her thinking from 'Diablo the project' to 'Diablo the beefed-up Herbie' or 'Diablo, Kitt Car wannabe' nowadays.

*** *** ***

Saturdays were still garage sale days; that had become the norm, and Pepper liked them for many reasons. Routine was her touchstone, and anytime she could get Tony to follow a routine was a coup. Too, it was a nice way for her boss to stay in touch with real people and not just the scientists, sycophants and supers who now vied for his hours. More people than ever wanted his attention and it was getting nearly impossible to find free time in Tony's schedule during the week. He could and did throw everything into havoc with missions, but Pepper was getting better at fielding those and generally things ran smoothly.

And still, they slipped out on Saturdays, using a variety of vehicles to do so. Once, Tony hired a plumbing contractor just to borrow the man's van; another time he rented an assisted living bus and made Pepper dress as a little old lady.

"_You're_ supposed to be the one in disguises, not _me_," Pepper had argued.

"Actually, I could probably pull off doing drag, but the beard is a dead giveaway, Miss Potts, and besides, brown velvet looks darling on you," Tony had reassured her.

And the junk kept accumulating. Of late, Tony was thrilled with repairing old boom boxes, often acquiring collections of cassette tapes as well. Most were worn commercial tapes, but many were dubbed and bootleg.

Pepper sifted through one of the shoe boxes, reading off labels—most of them homemade—to Tony as he worked to adjust Diablo's fan belt.

"Songs for Shar . . ."

" . . . Pei?"

"No, I don't think anyone would have composed a tape for a dog breed," Pepper laughed. "I think it's Sharlene."

"Too bad," Tony murmured. "With a name like that, the songs are probably . . ."

"There's no way of knowing unless we play it," Pepper interjected and popped the tape into the Sony special sitting on the worktable. For a minute nothing played, and then a slightly distorted male voice came on.

"Uh, this is for you, Sharlene. 'Cause you make me think of these songs. I mean, I think about of these songs when I'm thinkin' 'bout you."

"Sincerity, eight, poetic ability, two," Tony muttered, but he shot Pepper a quick grin and reached for the slightly grimy towel resting along the frame of the car.

"Shhhh," Pepper turned up the knob, anticipating the music, and sure enough, the device lived up to its name, booming out the opening riff of _Layla _loudly enough to make the tools on the worktable rattle.

Tony's grin widened; Pepper jumped back a bit and tried to turn the volume down, but he caught her hand and tugged her away from the knobs. "Let it play!"

Pepper gave in, already swaying a little to the music, delighted. She'd worried the song would be something sappy or eye-rolling, but whoever the mysterious Romeo had been, clearly he had taste—at least for the first tune.

Tony moved around her and began a serious riff of air guitar, demonstrating a hitherto unknown talent that had Pepper torn between applauding and laughing. Given his particular intensity and style, complete with complex fingerings, dedicated strumming and facial grimaces, she opted to clap, feeling Tony was giving the Clapton classic a good showing.

"Dance!" Tony growled. "You know you _want _to, Potts!"

"Dancing is _not_ in my job description!" she tried to argue back but it was a losing battle; not only was the tune infectious, so was Tony's grin.

"Shake it," Tony taunted, and did so himself. It wasn't the most polished dancing Pepper had seen, but it did have an aggressive grace and a sense of good-natured machismo that were hallmarks of Tony Stark.

"You're doing fine all by yourself," she pointed out coyly.

"It's a song for _Sharlene_" he reminded her, as if that was supposed to make a difference, and reached for her hand. Pepper let herself be towed out to a clear spot in the garage and half-heartedly began to dance, feeling extremely self-conscious.

"Pepper---_Dummy_ dances better than that. Don't you, boy?" Tony called to the 'bot, who was happily bouncing on his hydraulics on the other side of the workshop.

That was enough of an insult to make her put more effort into her moves, and gradually Pepper loosened up and enjoyed herself. Tony didn't try to grab her or do anything awkward, and as the song wound down, she laughed and leaned against Diablo, a little out of breath, but feeling good. "Layla. Who was she?"

"She was Patty Boyd," Tony replied, moving to click the boom box off. "Dummy, grab us two bottled waters from the fridge."

Pepper looked at him curiously, and Tony sighed. "George Harrison's wife. Clapton fell in love with her and wrote her the song, back in the day."

"Oh," Pepper murmured, surprised. Tony shot her a bemused glance and nodded.

"Yeah, it was kind of a scandal. He ended up marrying her and divorcing her about a decade later, mostly because of his drinking, then he ended up doing the _acoustic_ version years later and the song got popular all over again. Age-old story: Man wants what he can't have, and when he gets it, he blows it. Come to think of it--been there, done that, huh?"

Pepper couldn't think of what to say, and was spared coming up with a reply as Jarvis spoke up. "Sir, incoming information from SI satellites report a cache of long range missiles being moved through the Uzek mountains. Radiation signature reveals that they are one of the last sales consignments from the late Mr. Stane."

"Gotta go; duty calls," Tony murmured into the little quiet pause that filled the moment. Pepper found herself nodding even though she didn't want to, torn as ever between understanding his commitment and hating the risks that it put him into.

After Tony had gone, jetting up and away, leaving his usual bright flare trail against the blue Malibu sky, Pepper sighed and leaned one hip up against Diablo. The panel was warm, and absently she touched it lightly, fingers trailing along it. The car didn't move, but she sensed a little surge through the aura around it; an empathetic vibe.

"He'll be back," Pepper found herself murmuring, and went to go look through the rest of the tapes.

*** *** ***

He got back between two and three; that dead hour of the morning when the loneliness lay heaviest throughout the mansion. Tony savored the solitude of his fortress, but sometimes at night, between the stone and the glass, it was almost too much to bear.

Jarvis gave him the status report as the Suit was dismantled around him, and Tony felt a pang of delight when both Ace and Jack sauntered over to sniff him and be petted. "Kitty committee, huh? 'sup, my posse—hoarding any catnip mice?"

Jack promptly flopped over, fuzzy belly inviting some stroking; Tony did so, putting off his shower to enjoy the softness of the kitten's fur under his knuckles.

He rose, hearing his knees snap a little, and groaned, looking around for signs of Pepper. If she wasn't in the workshop, she usually left a note or some other sign of life for his return. Tony circled around the room, looking but not finding. He let his glance slide over to Diablo, and paused for a moment as he caught sight of a figure behind the wheel.

Carefully, quietly, Tony advanced on the car, smiling hard at the sight of Pepper, head back, sound asleep. He reached for the door, but it opened before he could touch the handle, and Tony slipped around it to bend down, reaching for Pepper's shoulder. "License and registration, Miss---"

Pepper woke with a start, hair tumbling around her face as her eyes went wide. She automatically shot a hand to the visor before realizing it was Tony grinning at her, "Ohhh—that _wasn't _funny, Tony."

"Yes it was," he contradicted, dimples deep. "I thought _I _was the one who got pulled over regularly"

"You _are,"_ Pepper assured him, and began to climb out of Diablo. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. So what where you doing, sleeping behind the wheel?"

Pepper blushed a little and moved to brush her hair out of her face to buy a moment of time. "I was um, listening to music. The rest of the tape, in fact, and—"

At that moment, the speaker inside Diablo blared to life with a warm rendition of _Daddy's Home_ and Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Diablo!" Pepper twisted and leaned into the car to pop the cassette out; Tony took the moment to ogle her ass, and the way her skirt rode up nicely as she bent---

She pulled back and caught him, her chiding stare making him cough slightly. "Sorry. The, um, opportunity presented itself, so to speak."

"Now I _know_ you're fine. Go shower, Mr. Stark," Pepper sighed. "I need to be going."

"Not yet!" Tony protested. "I got this idea on the way home, something that I KNOW will meet with your approval, so don't go yet, okay?"

"It's three in the morning," came Pepper's not-quite whimper. "Can't it wait?"

"Ten minutes," Tony wheedled, bouncing a little in agitation, "Just ten minutes . . ."

"Tony!" But she waved a hand at him, her sigh revealing that she would, in fact, stay.

He darted forward and cupping the back of Pepper's skull, kissed her forehead with a loud smoochie sound, dancing away from her half-hearted swat. "Okay, good, lemme sanitize and I'll be back!"

Pepper watched him race up the stairs, two at a time and waited for her heart to stop pounding. Her fingers flew to the slightly damp spot above her eyebrows and she gave a little strangled sigh.

A kiss. A stupid little playful gesture, something Tony wouldn't even remember, but still---

A kiss.

Tony stripped as he ran; something he hadn't done in a while but he had enough grace to skid into the shower without falling. "Jarvis, ninety seven degrees, mild antibacterial."

"Cologne?"

"Skip—wait, what does Pepper prefer?"

"I am unacquainted with Miss Potts' toilette."

"On *me.*"

"Cheval Noir."

"Okay that. Not too heavy."

"Anything else to make you feel pretty, sir?"

"Shhh, I'm thinking," Tony murmured absently, soaping up. He cleaned up in record time, his mind on the hasty action of a few moments before.

What in God's name had possessed him to kiss her—

Well kissing her was fine, no problem there, but on the _forehead_?

"Better places," Tony chided himself, feeling a tingle that didn't come from soap or water, "Let's hope she didn't think I was being a jerk."

"Perish the thought," Jarvis murmured.

Tony shot an annoyed glare ceiling-wise. "Not in the mood for a Greek chorus."

Jarvis, wisely made no answer to that, and Tony dressed quickly, pulling on whatever was closest, which in this case were sweatpants and a faded Los Angeles Yacht Club tee shirt. He bounded back towards the workshop, barefoot and suddenly nervous.

Pepper was on the sofa, kittens in her lap. She looked up at him blinking a bit. "Two minutes. That's an all-time record for you."

Tony came over and squatted down, reaching to pet Jack as he spoke. "Pepper . . . I want . . ."

"Yes?"

"I want to have a garage sale."


	7. Chapter 7

Pepper stared, wondering if Tony had any idea, _any_ idea of how much WORK his little whim was going to mean. Just off the top of her head it was going to entail inventory, security, accounting, media, scheduling—a ton of crap that she would have to head up almost instantly.

"A . . . garage sale," she echoed, her voice faint.

Tony nodded, his expression pleased. "Yeah. Not only do we have a lot of nicely repaired ready-to-go appliances that you've been nagging me to get rid off, but I've got a lot of _other_ stuff that we could put out—"

"I don't _nag_," Pepper automatically protested. "I just . . . remind you, with . . . persistence."

Tony shot her a look so dry that it had cactuses in it. "Riiiight."

"You're serious?" Pepper repeated with a hint of despair. "Here, at the mansion? Do you know how the media is going to pull out all the stops for that, Tony? We'll be _inundated_!" Gawkers, reporters, celebrity-chasers—"

"—Looky-Lous, stalkers, business rivals, women with big axes to grind," Tony grinned. "Just like when I throw parties, Potts. Nothing new, nothing hard and we might make a profit!"

Pepper rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder she didn't end up staring at her own brain. "Yes, because a multi-billionaire needs the money."

"Not me," he assured her, "but it could go towards something worthwhile. Maybe a couple of vocational college scholarships . . . mechanical engineering . . . ." Tony trailed off, studying her expression intently. "You know, the under-funded and undervalued educational options."

Pepper glanced beyond Tony at Diablo, and for a quick second, the car's turn signal blinked. Just once, like a wink at her.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "We'll need at least two _weeks_ to get ready, Tony. I want to draw up a list of what's going to be sold, and check with city hall about a permit, and commission some security, and do you want any publicity for this?"

"No, no, I think we ought to go with an ad in the Pennysaver, little things like that," came his insouciant response. "Actually, the lower profile we go, media-wise, the more likely we'll have _real_ people and not the slugs of society."

Hands on her hips, Pepper stared at him. "So you want a _discreet _garage sale?"

"Precisely. Maybe we'll see that old guy who has the hots for you!" Tony teased, making an exaggerated face and launching into an imitation. "Miss, your'n too pretty to be a Peppah! Daisy more lahk!"

"Mr. Kelley is perfect nice and you're mean to make fun of him," Pepper shot back, trying not to laugh at how close Tony's impersonation was. "Anyway, you're jealous."

"Jealous?" Tony hooted. "Of what? His plastic cord bolo tie? His ancient Keds? Maybe his Sears highwater pants?"

"His courtly manners," Pepper replied firmly, seeing her reply hit the mark slightly. Merwin Kelley's avuncular courtesy had charmed her early on, and Tony was annoyed by it, she knew. The ancient Texan knew of her love of cookbooks and often steered her to them when they met at various sales.

"Look, Foghorn Leghorn may know a hot number when he sees it, but the man's not a threat," Tony muttered. "Half his age plus seven means he can barely date Platypus's Nana Harriet, okay?"

Pepper blinked. "Rhodey's grandmother? How on _earth _do you KNOW these things, Tony?"

Tony grinned wryly. "Met her at his graduation, and tried using the old Stark charm on her, but she's just a lit-tle bit . . . impervious to it. For some mysterious reason she disapproves of me and I know for a fact that Nana Harriet still swings a very mean cane. I'm guessing she went to her prom with Frederick Douglass."

Pepper was spluttering behind one palm now, picturing a younger, wilder Tony being chewed out by a no-nonsense matriarch. "T-Tony! What does she look like?"

"Like Mean Joe Green in a flowered dress and a Sunday hat," Tony shot back, his tone dry. "Emphasis on the 'mean' in this case. Just Mr. Kelley's type, if he's a masochist."

Strategically retreating, Pepper changed topics. "If we wait to post at the very last minute, and only give the address, we _might_ be able to get away with it," she thought aloud. "It would help if we could convince the paparazzi that you're out of town, too--"

"Fishing trip in Cabo," Tony agreed. "We can put in calls to the usual places and book catering, send some of the staff; you know the drill. Garage sale, man! We'll make signs and fill boxes, and I can let people haggle with _me _this time---I'm all goose-bumpy. Wanna feel?"

He expected her to decline with her usual soft smirk, but Pepper glided over and laid a cool hand on his forearm. Tony held still, not wanting to overreact, but her touch sent a shiver through him, and her eyebrows went up.

"Just when I think I've got you all figured out . . ." came Pepper's soft observation, "Who'd have thought that an unregulated middle-class free market economy would thrill you?"

"God bless America," Tony mumbled, "So, we're on?"

He knew _he _was, on many levels. Pepper hadn't removed her hand, and Tony didn't mind at all.

"It's going to be a madhouse," she sighed.

*** *** ***

The sorting decisions for the sale were an ongoing battle of contention for the next two weeks. Some items were easily agreed on: the various appliances for one, as well as the overflow of Tony's older tools and shop gear. At odds, however, were the other items that he offered up that Pepper eyed dubiously.

"Tony, we can't sell Gucci ties or St. Lauren slacks at a garage sale!"

"If we want to give people bargains . . ."

"Yes, but passing off a three hundred dollar tie for fifty cents makes me . . ."

"Generous?"

"Queasy," Pepper muttered. "If you want to put out one or two items that's fine, but please don't start a stampede with more generosity than we can handle. Just because you don't wear something or like something doesn't _instantly _make it a garage sale item."

"Fine," Tony conceded. "But I'm not going to end up like those old hoarders with rooms full of tinsel and junk mail, you hear me?"

Pepper eloquently glanced around at the eleven cars in the garage, and let her gaze follow to the six proto Suits along the wall. Tony followed her stare and gave a great put-upon sigh.

"That's not hoarding, Potts, that's _col-LEC-ting._ Surely *you* collect things too, right? Those cookbooks?"

"Cookbooks are minor, and a lot more . . . normal," Pepper defended herself. "And anyway this isn't about _my_ stuff. What else do you have to set out?"

"A box of adult magazines and some . . . lingerie," Tony mumbled.

Pepper couldn't quite hear him and moved closer, her expression curious. "What?"

"Items appealing to certain collectors," Tony re-phrased, looking impish. "Trust me, you don't really want to know, Pepper. Guy stuff. Hey, Diablo's almost street-legal; feel like taking a ride?"

Suspicious, but willing to change the topic, Pepper glanced at the Barracuda and smiled. "Really? I thought we were waiting for the new muffler?"

"Damnedest thing—he_ grew_ one, Potts," Tony chortled. "Check it out . . . full chrome too. I think that atmospheric jumpstart got his proto-organic substructure flowing again, because I can practically see the metal growing, which is totally illogical, but given the vehicle in question, not impossible, am I right?"

Pepper didn't reply; she was gracefully bending over to check the veracity of Tony's statement, and once again showcasing a lovely view of leg and backside. "Wow!"

That was Tony's immediate thought too, although he didn't voice it. Better to stay quiet and salivate for the moment; Pepper straightened up and pretended she didn't catch him looking. "Okay."

"For real?" he blinked, and then cleared his throat. "Okay then. Good. We'll go . . ."

Pepper checked her watch. ". . . fpr ice cream. Cone, Cone on the Range is still open and I'm going to allow myself a mango sorbet cone, Mr. Stark."

"Wild woman," Tony grinned. "Sorbet it is."

He insisted on holding the door open for her and darted around the front of Diablo, bouncing into the driver's seat with joyful alacrity. "Okay . . . . keys—"

But Diablo rumbled cheerfully to life, lights and radio surging on together in a sweet cacophony, the jingle for Cone, Cone on the Range blaring out.

"Cone, Cone on the Range!" Tony sang along, slightly off-key, "Where the scoops and the candy bits plaaaaay!"

"Where never is heard, a dieting word, and the prices are decent all daaay!" Pepper added, her voice softer, but more in tune.

"We're nuts," Tony assessed cheerfully, "But what the hell, right?"

He laid his hands on the steering wheel and gearshift; the car turned smoothly, accelerating up the ramp and out into the darkness in a rush that had Pepper yelping. She fished for her seat belt as Tony laughed delightedly. "Ohyeah, oh yeahhhhhh, I can _feeellll _the speed!"

"You said a _ride _not a launch!" Pepper cried out, breathless and tense.

Tony pulled his foot off the accelerator and grumbled slightly under his breath. "Okay, okay, yeah . . . still, you have to admit, the D has su-weeeet velocity!"

Pepper gave a whimper, but the ride down the long driveway smoothed out, and the hot rumble of the hemi thrummed through the car. On the radio, the jingle had given way to 'Moondance,' fitting in nicely with the dim light of the interior and the swiftly passing shadows of scenery.

"Like?" Tony asked, shooting Pepper a quick, delighted glance before returning his gaze to the road. She slowly began to unclench.

"Yes," came reluctantly from her. "Tony, I thought the tank was nearly empty."

"It . . . oh yeah," he murmured, puzzled. "Maybe the big D got Jack and the others to run the pump."

The look Pepper shot him made Tony laugh, and they made the turnoff in record time.

The Cone, Cone on the Range store stood near the corner of the Pacific coast highway onramp, and Diablo slid into the parking lot with mechanical grace, glittering in the arc lamps outside the store. Tony bounded out, trying to get Pepper's door but she was already out of the car, shooting him an odd look.

"What's gotten into you, Tony?"

"Manners?" he offered in an uncertain tone. "I do _have_ some . . . theoretically."

Pepper said nothing, but the twist to her lips displayed a sweet uncertainty, and Tony let his gaze linger on hers as they stepped towards the shop door.

Behind the counter, the large smiling man with the trim mustache greeted Pepper with a smile.

"Miss Sorbet! _Still _can't get you to try the flavor of the month yet, huh?"

"Hello Mr. Love," Pepper laughed softly. "You know me; stuck in a rut. My usual, please."

"Mr. Love?" Tony murmured, blinking a little at the man's name tag.

Mr. Love beamed at him. "Yeah it's a hell of a name, but I was born with it, so what are you going to do, right? I like to think of myself as sharing the love through ice cream. What can I getcha?"

"Whatcha got?" Tony countered pleasantly, glancing up at the big board of postings with a small grin. Pepper watched him out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh we've got oodles of goodies, hon," Mr. Love burbled. "Everything from the Bananarama Extravaganza to the Beach Me Out Bowl to the Iron Man Special."

Tony blinked. "Iron Man . . . Special?"

"Oh yeah," Mr. Love waved a hand at a photo up on a poster. "Two macho scoops of golden French Vanilla with cherry sauce, warmed up in the microwave. I suppose we'll have to stop offering it if Stark ever gets around to trademarking his hero business, but for the moment, it's quite the mover here!"

"Oh I _want _one," Tony purred. "What do you think, Pep—does an Iron Man sound . . . tasty?"

"_I _think . . . you're going to be very full . . . of yourself," she murmured as Mr. Love busied himself scooping sorbet from the far end of the counter.

"Take a note, Miss Potts," Tony commented under his breath, "First thing tomorrow, trademark Iron Man, and make sure Cone, Cone gets a marketing license for it, gratis."

She blinked at him, and her smile widened. "Noted, Mr. Stark."

"It's the least I can do for those hundreds of lips all over me across the country," Tony quipped. "You know, I'm really loving that imagery."

"Yes, you would," Pepper fought a snicker. "Thank you."

This last was to Mr. Love, who had handed over a well-stacked cone to her with a smile.

"Nothing but the best for Miss Sorbet," came his cheery reply. "And you sir, know what you'd like?"

"Oh I think you could probably twist my arm for an Iron Man Special," Tony replied.

"Good choice!" Mr. Love praised. "Want the whipped cream too?"

"I insist."

They took their treats outside; Pepper wanted Tony out of the public eye although it was fairly dark and the store uncrowded. They sat in Diablo, enjoying dessert quietly for a while.

"So how is it?" Pepper finally asked, glancing over at the cup in Tony's hands.

Tony shot her as innocent a look as he was capable of. "I could let you have a bite, if you're gentle--"

"Hmmm," Pepper replied demurely. "I just never associate you with anything of the, um, cherry variety."

Tony pointed his plastic spoon at her accusingly. "Suggestive! That was utterly _suggestive,_ Miss Potts."

Pepper said nothing, feeling warm at being called on her remark. The radio began playing 'Cherry, Cherry' very softly, and Tony laughed.

"Mood music, no less. Here—" He held out a taste out for Pepper. She hesitated, first eyeing the offering and then him.

Tony thought she was like a pretty gazelle cautiously approaching a watering spot, wary of ambush, and he held still as Pepper slid her lips around the proffered spoon.

He bit back a groan.


	8. Chapter 8

Tony looked over the pile in the box and grinned; so many memories. At least the ones he *could* remember. A lot of the effluvia in front of him brought only dim thoughts and little lusty pangs through his system.

Mostly through his loins.

Pepper came over and glanced at the stuff, blushing faintly. "Tony!"

"Too pricey?"

"That's . . ." she spluttered, trying to point out the utter outrageous _inappropriateness _of the box before her.

"It's . . . disgusting!"

Tony cocked his head and sighed, picking up the box that said **'Assorted thongs, one buck.'** "They're_ clean_ you know."

"That's not the point! It's utterly vile and you know it."

"So nobody will buy them?"

Pepper put her hands on her hips. "Tony, would _you_ buy used women's underwear from a garage sale?"

His wince said it all, and Pepper gave a satisfied nod. "Exactly. We'll let them go to the landfill." She moved to pick up the box and blinked. "Um, exactly how _many_ are—"

"—you don't want to know. _I _don't want to count," Tony jumped in, snagging the cardboard from her. "Just understand that none had nametags, and I never tried _on_ any of them."

She blinked, caught up in an image that left her simultaneously revolted and giggly; Tony had the capacity to take outrageous to staggering heights and frequently did, although not quite as often as he used to.

Playing it safe, she said nothing, and watched him scurry away with the box before looking at the other offerings stacked at her feet.

Pepper spotted more trouble as she squatted down and picked up the sonic mixer. It was a handy little gadget, and unpatented as of yet, so she set it aside before some unscrupulous person bought it and did so.

There was another invention yet undocumented there too, and with a sigh, Pepper snapped her fingers. The magna-quilt assembled itself, the little colorful pockets of nylon assembling to make a puffy patchwork comforter before her.

"Tony, I _love_ the quilt; you're not selling the quilt," Pepper announced. "I can't believe you were going to put it out!"

"I wasn't!" he retorted. "It got stuck to some other stuff in there and I was too, um, busy to sort it all out."

"Busy with what?" demanded Pepper, peering at the other box. The glossy image of a naked, sultry-eyed vixen brazenly straddling the handlebars of a futuristic motorcycle made her wince a little. "Oh."

Tony dashed over, yanking the box from her hands, his face flushed. "Not _that_ kind of busy!"

Pepper's face was caught between polite disbelief and giggles as she pulled her hands back, "Um, I'll just leave this to you . . ."

"You've seen _worse_," Tony mumbled defensively. "Like that collection of DVDs the Brazilian Ambassador sent over . . ."

"You're a man; by default you like porn," Pepper shrugged elegantly. "It stands . . ." she trailed off, blushing hotly at her own words. Tony broke in to a laugh at her expression.

". . . to a _lot_ more than reason, yeah, yeah. I never knew you were so smutty, Miss Potts. Keep going; I _like_ it."

"I'm _not_ . . . what you said," Pepper defended herself hotly. "Not at all!"

"Sure you are," Tony replied, shifting the box to one hip and smiling at her. "You just don't admit it. All that elegant acreage of leg exposed to the male psyche, the come-hither shoes, designed to make guys stop thinking, even the little proper touches, like the tiny pearl earrings. Total window dressing for the view into a much more naughty Potts."

"Sometimes I wear pants--_slacks,_" Pepper protested, blushing a deeper shade of pink. It was a sweet look on her, Tony decided, and he set the box aside, crossing his arms and studying her.

"The big difference is you throw a lot of _class _into it. You carry off that prim sensual look and it drives . . . me, uh, _MEN _crazy."

Pepper shot him a startled look. "That's not . . . I don't _intend_ to . . ."

"Maybe not, but you do," Tony assured her, and added, "I suppose you don't consider it smutty per se, but it's definitely sensual, Potts. Keep it up."

Pepper spluttered a bit, but Tony laughed and stepped out with the box, leaving her caught between fuming and grinning. She rubbed her face with one hand, wishing her blush would die down, and feeling an odd little pleasure in the thought that Tony noticed her. Actually seemed to . . . _appreciate_ her look.

A furry tail brushed along her ankles, and Pepper glanced down to see Ace circling her, feeling friendly. She dropped a hand to pet him, still smiling.

*** *** ***

It was overcast. It wasn't often in Malibu, but in the winter the marine layer could linger from dawn until noon, and this proved to be one of those days. A faint damp clung to everything, and while there was no wind, Pepper pulled on a sweater as she surveyed the layout of the sale.

Tony had opted—sensibly—to have it close to the estate gates instead of letting buyers drive up the long route to the mansion. She'd arranged for side of the road parking too, so that nobody would be blocking anyone. Temporary fencing closed off the rest of the road up to the house, and large men in plainclothes would patrol it. Pepper hoped that would be enough to discourage most looky-Lous.

The six big folding tables were set up in a very wide horseshoe, and Pepper had tried to keep the items in some sort of rough order. Appliances on two of them, with every crock-pot, coffeemaker, toaster and boom box neatly priced. A table of assorted house wares overflow was on another, including some SI mugs she hadn't seen in years along with vases, ashtrays, a few bento sets and part of a stainless steel barbeque that would have made the most top end mail order catalog weep with envy.

Two tables held tools and computer parts, all cleaned of any data. Another had a nice selection of good clothing, neatly folded.

And there were Tony's magazines, _discreetly _tucked away under a table with a lid on the box; Pepper refused to acknowledge them, but didn't argue about selling them.

She tapped her headset and spoke into the mic. "Jarvis? How is it looking?"

"There are vehicles already parking along the road, Miss Potts, and pedestrians heading towards the gates. I have detected no weapons or cameras as of yet."

"Thank you. Happy?"

"Here," came the prompt reply. "Looks good from the gate. Got an old lady with a walker—she might need some help."

"Does she have purple eyelids, and a poncho that's . . . colorful?" Pepper asked with resignation.

"Ohyeah. Colorful is a nice way to put it," Happy mumbled.

"That's Dottie Syzinski, and she really _doesn't _need help. Tell me, do you see a gentleman in a bolo tie, and um, sneakers anywhere nearby?"

"Coming down the road, sure," Happy responded. "Why?"

"And that's Merwin Kelley. He and Dottie don't . . . play nice together," Pepper sighed. "We'll have to keep an eye on them."

"Battle of the geezers?" came Happy's credulous question.

Pepper gave a little groan. "I saw them nearly come to blows over a second-hand Cuisinart once—just take my word for it; they need to be kept apart."

"Will do," Happy assured her, "although I haven't had to take out a retiree since those Red Hats decided to gang up on Tony at the charity luncheon."

"He asked for it," Pepper reminded Happy grimly. "He _never_ should have called them his favorite cougars, honestly! The man ended up with so much red lipstick on his face he could have joined the circus!"

"Hey, is he still signed up to pose on their calendar event?" Happy murmured. "I hear that's gonna be un-believable."

Pepper gave a little groan. "Yes. Like he _needs_ an excuse to run around pant-less in a crowd of women."

A deep chuckle was the only answer to that, and Pepper clicked the speaker off, then went over to watch the buyers come in.

Tony, dressed today in jeans, John Lennon glasses and a simple button down shirt circled one of the tables, looking as nervous as a bridegroom. When Pepper moved to touch his shoulder, he flinched, and that made her giggle. "Jumpy?"

"What if they don't buy anything? What if they don't like the stuff?" he murmured, and Pepper was about to laugh when she realized there was a serious note in his question. She reached out to pat his back.

"We can always drop the prices," came her suggestion.

Tony shot her a mischievous look and shook his head. "You know me," he replied with good humor, "I'm hooked on haggling now. It's from _you_ Potts. Your scheming ways have rubbed off on me."

"Someone had to show you the ropes," she countered gently, reaching out to touch one of the crockpot lids. "Besides, you've done a fantastic job restoring all these things. I'm proud of you."

He caught her glance and held it; his eyes were very dark and intense. "You . . . are?"

Pepper held her breath, aware suddenly in that way that steals over a person--that this was important to Tony. She nodded slowly. "Yes."

Tony didn't blink for a long moment, and then quickly smiled, a full and happy expression that she hadn't seen in years. A very young sort of smile.

It was so amazing that Pepper couldn't breathe for a second.

Tony dropped his gaze and rolled his shoulders a little, breaking the spell, and Pepper tried not to feel dizzy. She covered her reaction by pulling off the headset and tucked it into her pocket, murmuring, "Both Dottie and Merwin are here."

"Dottie?" Tony blanched a little. "_And_ Merwin? Does Happy know?"

"I . . . mentioned to him that we might need an intervention," Pepper assured him. "Although he doesn't believe me."

"Once he's pulling Dottie's dentures off his ass he will," Tony sighed. "Let's go meet the masses."

*** *** ***

The first folks meandering through were all hard-core. Pepper recognized the faces of people on a mission. They looked over things without talking, staring intently from table to table, seemingly unapproachable. Most of them had specific items they wanted, and if they didn't see them, vanished quickly and quietly.

Dottie came up, leaning over her walker, her gaze sharp. She was looking like an explosion in a neon fabric store with her lime green and orange poncho over hot pink slacks. Quickly, she glanced up at Pepper through her glasses on a chain and smiled. "Oh it's _you!_ Cookbook chickie! So this is _your _bash, huh?"

"Hello Dottie," Pepper murmured.

Dottie craned to look around quickly. "Is Joe with you? Mr. One Thousand Disguises? Shame about him and all that TSPB thingie he's got from fighting in the war."

Pepper bit her lips a second to fight the giggles. She and Tony had convinced Dottie that he was a veteran suffering from Post-traumatic stress disorder upon returning from Afghanistan—a fabrication not _entirely_ fabricated, Tony confessed—and that as a result he was now compelled to disguise himself differently at every garage sale outing. That was good enough for Dottie, who always managed to spot him every time they crossed paths.

And for some bizarre reason she believed that Tony's name was Joe.

"He's . . . around," Pepper nodded.

Dottie was checking out the table of crockpots now, looking preoccupied. "Geez, how many slow cookers do you have?"

"Um, fifteen, I think," Pepper replied. "You know how he keeps picking them up. But they've all been repaired and rewired and cleaned out. It's good therapy for him."

"I bet," Dottie nodded sagely. "Vets, you wanna keep them busy. Most of them, salt of the damn earth, chickie. Tell me, what's Joe dressed as today, huh?"

"Um, he's going as a community college teacher," came the quick lie. "If you call him 'Professor Hinkley' he'd love it. See anything you like?"

Dottie touched a Boom Box thoughtfully. "Maybe."

"Okay, keep looking and I'll be right back," Pepper called, moving up the row of table towards what looked like trouble.

It was. Tall, stacked and bouncy, Anne-Marie stood in front of the kitchenware table, holding up a whisk, her expression puzzled. "What's it for? Oh hi Miss Potts," came the burble.

"It's for blending things," Pepper sighed. She knew someone would show up who actually knew Tony, but hadn't expected it quite so soon, and certainly not to be_ this_ person.

"Oh, okay. The last time I saw something like this, we sure didn't use it in the kitchen!" Anne-Marie giggled. "Is Tony here?"

Pepper took the whisk from her and set it down again. "I really couldn't say. Are you looking for anything special?"

Anne-Marie concentrated, as if this was a difficult question. "Um, I like coffee cups. The funny ones with pictures of kitties and funny sayings like that."

"We have a few that say Stark Industries," Pepper murmured, and counted in her head. _Two . . . three . . ._

Anne-Marie giggled. "That's funny! You know, I work for Stark Industries! I LOVE it!"

"Yes, I thought you would," Pepper smiled in spite of herself, and waved to another table. "Lots of coffee cups, Anne-Marie. Take your time."

"I will," the blonde nodded earnestly. "Because reading them is hard."

Pepper looked away, struggling hard not to laugh, and made her way towards another familiar figure. Merwin Kelley beamed at her as she approached him. "Miss Peppah!"

"Mister Kelley," she replied sweetly. "Good to see you."

"Likewise, mah dear. Is this your shindig? I'm impressed," he murmured, looking beyond the tables and up towards the house with a sharp eye. "You _do _have permission to hold it heah, right?"

"Um, yes. It's all . . . legitimate," Pepper assured him. "The owner was fairly cooperative."

"Is that . . . unfortunate young man still with you?" Merwin murmured. "The one . . ." he twirled a finger at his temple, the time-honored if somewhat blunt gesture to indicate the mentally challenged.

"Yes, he's . . . around."

"Not all there, is he?" Merwin sighed. "Pity 'bout that."

"Oh actually he's wonderful," Pepper felt compelled to defend Tony. "A very brilliant man."

"Hmmm," Merwin didn't look convinced. "Genius is he? Because I've heard stories about them. Fellahs so bright they can calculate the distance between the moons of Jupiter in their eggheads, and then forget to put on pants in the mornin'."

This was pretty much the truth about Tony in every way, Pepper realized, but didn't say so.

Someone held up one of the barbeque tongs. "How much?"

"Two dollars," Pepper replied, distracted. Tony was coming towards her, and she was faintly aware of a distant car horn honking repeatedly, but it wasn't coming from the road, it was coming from the house.

She turned, and realized that nearly a mile up the drive, the garage door was opening and a car was coming out.

All by itself.


	9. Chapter 9

Tony was trying to extol the virtues of a restored Mixmaster to a round little woman in glasses, pointing out the replaced cord when he caught sight of Pepper hurrying over towards him.

"Anyway, think about it, okay?" he murmured and moved to intercept Pepper.

"Diablo," she said in a slightly breathless tone, tipping her head towards the house and long driveway.

Tony sharply looked up, spotting the approaching vehicle. "Not good."

The car wasn't moving very fast, but still, the vision of a driverless car moving towards the tables was not something either he or Pepper wanted to see.

"Why is he coming out?" Tony wanted to know, his expression perplexed. "Is he getting enough exercise? Er, mileage, I guess?"

"Well I don't know!" Pepper mutter in exasperation. "Maybe you could go _ask_ him, Tony! And how did get out? I'm fairly sure Jarvis wouldn't have—!"

"—He's got a remote," Tony cut in absently. "Clipped to his visor."

She turned to look at him and he gave a helpless shrug. "Hey, I have them on _all _the cars; you know that! I just didn't think he'd know how to, um, _use_ it."

"Go stop him," Pepper ordered with terse exasperation. "Now."

Tony looked as if he wanted to argue, then thought better of it and nodded. He moved around the tables and trotted towards the gate while Pepper put her headset back on and spoke softly. "Happy?"

"Right here—who's bringing out the 'Cuda?"

"Um, Tony's got a remote on it," she replied, not exactly going for a lie; it was the truth, sort of.

"Okay. Are they bringing it out the gate? Because if they are, they'll need to go around to the right," Happy replied, his voice slightly tinny. "Does he need access to the road?"

"I'll get back to you on that," Pepper told him, and looked around. Merwin was still there, perusing the table with the Bento boxes, so Pepper went over to him, smiling nervously.

"Mr. Kelley, I have a _huge_ favor to ask," she began.

He looked up from the chopsticks he was toying with. "Yes, m'dear?"

"Would you . . . keep an eye on the tables for _just _a moment? I have something I need to handle, and—"

Merwin Kelley nodded, grinning a little. "It would be mah pleasure. I assure you, I'd be delighted."

"Thank you so much," Pepper breathed a sigh of relief and turned to look at the gate. Diablo had just reached it, and Tony was working the lock, slipping through it to the other side. She moved as quickly and discreetly as she could, weaving in and out of interested buyers, browsers and window shoppers until she reached the gate and followed in Tony's wake.

Diablo was rumbling softly, the hemi a tiger's purr in the still air, and Tony had the driver's side door open. Incongruously, strains of a Ted Nugent song were playing on the car's radio, but very softly. Pepper peered over his shoulder.

"What's going _on?"_

"Jack," Tony replied bleakly. The kitten was curled up on the driver's seat, and when he raised his head, both Tony and Pepper froze, looking at his runny eyes and sandpaper dry nose. He gave a pitiful squeak of a 'mew' by way of greeting and proceeded to sneeze several times.

That was when Pepper realized she was hearing _'Cat Scratch Fever._'

"He doesn't look good," Tony muttered, reaching for the kitten and picking him up. "Pepper, he really _really_ doesn't look good."

"I know," she replied, feeling panicky and working not to show it. "We need to take him to the vet. Oh God! Tony! Diablo knew and brought him out to us!"

Tony's eyebrows went up at this, but he nodded and reached out one hand to pat the steering wheel. "Okay, I'm impressed. Not meaning to make things anymore difficult than they already are, but how are we going to work this, Miss Potts? We have six tables and about thirty people between us and the road."

"The right. Happy said to take it around to the right." She tapped her headset. "Happy, yes, we need access to the road—can you make it happen?"

"Absolutely," came his calm reply. "Start moving around right and you'll see the cleared area."

Tony gently handed Jack to Pepper as the fuzzy head of Ace appeared between the seats and Queenie looked up from the back seat. "He brought everybody."

"They should all be seen," Pepper agreed pocketing the headset again, and looked at Tony. "All right, Mr. Stark, here's our situation. We need to take the kittens in to the vet, but we have a garage sale in progress. I have an idea how we can handle both situations but I'd need your permiss—"

"—done," Tony told her, climbing into the driver's seat. "Get in."

"Tony! You haven't even heard what I'm suggesting!" Pepper snorted, carefully holding Jack against her shoulder as she went around the front of Diablo. Jack's fur felt extremely warm against her fingertips.

"Potts, I *pay* you to handle the logistics of my life," Tony pointed out, buckling up. "Whatever your suggestion, I'm good with it. Think you can keep the cats from getting under the pedals here?"

"Let me sit in the back—" she folded the seat forward and climbed into the back and conveniently, Tony used the rearview mirror to view _her _rear as she did so.

He smiled at her innocently when she turned to catch him in the act. "Why do you _do_ that?" Pepper demanded, settling behind the passenger seat, blushing. "I've worked for you for _years_ and after all this time, I'd think you would be bored with my . . . backside. It's not like it's particularly new or exciting."

"Pepper, as long as I have testosterone circulating in my body, your booty will _always _be fascinating," Tony admitted. "It's a guy thing; a reflex from the brainstem that can't be fully controlled, not even by Tibetan monks on the highest level of meditation and added onto that is the fact that you possess one of the finest asses in the _world. _I speak as a connoisseur, so trust me; looking at it is a privilege."

"Tony," Pepper blushed crimson, "Just . . . drive."

Diablo edged around the tables; a few people looked over at it curiously, and Pepper leaned out the window, waving to Merwin Kelley, who came over, his expression bright-eyed and curious.

"You've made sixteen dollahs so far, and someone's thinking about picking up most of the um . . . lit-er-a-ture under the table for a hefty sum," Merwin reported, trying to hand the bills over. "Not that I approve of that sort of magazine, but money is money."

"Mr. Kelley, I really,_ really_ hate to impose any further on you—" Pepper began, but Tony interrupted, his eyes locking on those of the older man.

"Mr. Kelley, if you agree to run this garage sale until Pepper and I get back, I'll give you seventy percent of the proceeds and double them in contributions to whatever charity you favor."

Merwin Kelley set his hands on the open window frame of Diablo's door and blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm serious, Mr. Kelley. Pepper and I need to take one of our pets to the vet, and we need someone to run the sale while we're gone. You're sharp and more than qualified to know about how to run these things any way you see fit, and Pepper and I respect you."

For a moment Merwin Kelley stared sharply at Tony, as if searching him for some trace of mockery, but at that moment Jack mewed piteously again. Seeing the kitten, Kelley managed a small smile.

"I appreciate your faith in me, and I'll do my very best, Miss Peppah . . ." he paused and added, "--Mr. Stark."

Tony blinked and extended his hand; Kelley shook it firmly.

As Diablo pulled along the cleared path towards the road, Pepper pulled out the headset. "Happy, Mr. Kelley is now in charge of the garage sale. Tony and I have a . . . minor medical issue to deal with, so help Mr. Kelley out until we get back."

"Okay," came the completely unfazed reply. "What about the other one? The, uh, lady?"

"Dottie's an honored guest," Tony called out, pulling out onto PCH 1 and shifting Diablo into drive. "But if she tries to talk down the price on _any _of the boom boxes, forget it."

*** *** ***

"Rhinitus," came the diagnosis from Doctor Hepple, a little round man who looked like a direct descendant of the original Doolittle. "He'll need fluids and rest; antibiotics wouldn't do anything for him, but a lot of TLC and moist food will—not that he needs much of that last," the vet commented, running a gentle hand over Jack's round tummy. The kitten was making an effort to be nice, purring between sneezes. In Tony's arms, Queenie was completely spooked, claws into his shirt, eyes wide. Pepper held Ace, who wanted to ride on her shoulders.

"So he's . . . okay?" Tony asked, wincing as Queenie's tiny needles snagged his shirt.

"He'll be fine in a few days," Doctor Hepple remarked cheerfully, then added, "But they _all _need to be neutered. Once all three of them have run through the virus, I'd recommend you bring them back for that as soon as possible, Mr. Potts."

"Mr.--?"

"My name's on the paperwork," Pepper reminded him in a whisper. Raising her voice she added, "How long do you think that will take, Doctor Hepple?"

"Give it a week and a half," he suggested, stroking Jack gently along the spine. "It's fairly routine."

"Is it . . . necessary?" Tony asked, wincing a little, and the vet looked at him with a bemused stare over the top of his glasses.

"It isn't necessary, but it's _highly _recommended. Un-neutered toms spray, fight, and get their sisters pregnant."

"Ew," came Tony's cringe.

Pepper bit her lips to keep from laughing, and even the vet was fighting a chuckle at Tony's expression.

"Yes, well aside from that, it's beneficial for them in a lot of ways. The receptionist has a checklist for the process and will give it to you when you go to make an appointment. In the meantime I suggest you let these three have a nice cozy place to sleep and monitor them for a day or two just to make sure it doesn't progress into anything else. There are some drops for Jack's eyes—not necessary but they may make them a bit more comfortable. Do you need a carrier?"

Twenty minutes later, all three kittens were yowling loudly from a cardboard box with a handle and air holes. Pepper tried to soothe them, but didn't have much success. Tony sat behind the wheel, but was talking to Diablo instead of driving.

"They're fine—they're just a little pissed off at us," he was trying to explain. "Jack's going to be okay; you did a good thing to show us what was wrong, you know. Good thinking on your part."

Diablo reluctantly turned his engine over very gently, then began to inch out into traffic, barely moving over twenty miles an hour.

Pepper gave an exasperated sigh. "Diablo, _please_—the sooner we all get home, the sooner these three big babies will stop crying."

That was a regrettable statement; she realized a moment too late. Diablo revved up and accelerated, driving everyone back in their seats and for a moment all three kittens were stunned into silence by the sheer velocity.

Tony had the nerve to grin, and whooped once, the sound dying when he saw Pepper's terror turn to exasperation.

"Mach . . . one . . . is NOT . . . the . . . speed limit!" she managed to shout towards the dashboard. "Slow DOWN!"

Diablo wove through traffic, reached the highway onramp, accelerated up it, dropped to a reasonable sixty-two once there, and the purr of his engine had a hint of smugness to it. Pepper looked around the interior of the car with suspicion, but didn't say anything more as she clung to the carrier on her lap.

Tony folded his hands behind his head and yawned innocently. "I wonder how the garage sale is going?"

Pepper glared at him.

Turning up the long curve from PCH to the estate road proved to be difficult. There was a helicopter in the air and crowds of cars everywhere. Diablo instantly tinted his windows, and Pepper felt a dawning fear rise in her. "Oh God—the media figured it out. Those are news vans, Tony."

"Here—" he reached over for her headset and holding it up, spoke into the mouthpiece. "Happy? Report, please?"

"Mr. Stark," came the slightly breathless reply. "Your . . . sale is doing brisk business, and Mr. Kelley has one hell of an uppercut for a senior citizen."

"Brisk? Uppercut?" Tony puzzled. "Is there a party I'm missing here?"

"You could say that, sir," Happy replied. "We're clearing a path for you now."

Diablo nosed forward, weaving through the other cars on the road easily, and pulled off on the grass where men in dark suits were standing. Pepper looked out the window, her gaze transfixed on people at the tables, elbowing each other over various items. There were reporters everywhere, and a bubbly Anne Marie was being interviewed, a painful prospect right there.

And Merwin Kelley was standing on a dais improvised from a crate, waving and pointing like a madman.

"I think . . ." Pepper murmured in a stunned monotone, "He's . . . auctioneering."

Tony leaned her way, "Diablo, down just a crack, please."

The window went down fractionally, and the clear, unmistakable roll of Merwin Kelley's Texas twang zipping a mile a minute reached them. "'_you_sirtwentyfivehundredwho'llmake it twentysixhundred—"

Tony spoke into the speaker again. "How much has he made?"

"Rough guess, sir—about forty thousand so far."

"Forty . . . thousand?"

"Yessir. Apparently your, um, how did he put it? Broad-minded literature went for damned near fifteen on its own," Happy reported.

Pepper gave a groan; Tony chortled. "I _knew _that box would move!"

"Before you start rummaging under your bed for more to put out, may I remind you we have some kittens to take care of?"

"Diablo, home!" Tony murmured, and the car moved forward, letting the rumble of the hemi clear the path a bit wider. The gates swung open and the car squeezed through, accelerating back onto the road. Pepper glanced back; there were security men closing the gates against a push of onlookers.

She sighed bleakly and looked at Tony. "As we speak, I'm sure a news chopper is circling overhead, and Diablo is probably now being screened in a hundred TV stations. Merwin Kelley might be making you good money, but after all this publicity, I'm betting this will be the _last_ garage sale we ever get to take part in, Mr. Stark."

Tony was quiet as Diablo rumbled along the winding curves to the house.


	10. Chapter 10

The total profits for the garage sale ended up at nearly one hundred and seventy two thousand dollars, and the media was playing it up as another one of Tony Stark's outrageous follies, interviewing buyers who gloated at having a second-hand appliance 'personally repaired by Tony Stark!'

"I'm _never_ using this for cooking!" One rich matron declared to Hollywood Access, "It's going in my _bedroom!"_

Tony sneered at the screen as he peeked up from Diablo's tail lights. "What was the point of_ buying_ it if you weren't going to USE it?" he argued back for a moment.

"Psychologically speaking, it's known as the 'glamour effect, sir," Jarvis told him. "The mistaken belief that items you have touched, used or in this case repaired hold some permanent mystical connection to you, the world-famous Tony Stark. Your tactile imprint is akin to the King's Touch."

Tony looked impishly at his right hand, which was currently covered in engine grease. "In that case, there are a lot of breasts out there—"

Diablo rumbled warningly just as Pepper came down the basement steps, and Tony guiltily wiped his fingers on his jeans. She had a clipboard in her hand and her expression hinted that she had less than happy news.

"We're getting cited for Diablo," she announced. "He needs to be smog inspected."

"Ah," Tony sighed, "Yeah, part of making him street-legal. All steps in responsible ownership."

"Speaking of responsible ownership," Pepper murmured. "We take the trio in tomorrow for their um, minor surgery."

Tony's face fell. "So soon?"

"Better for them to never know what they're missing," Pepper advised, tongue firmly in cheek.

"The _boys_ will know," Tony muttered balefully. "And they'll hold me responsible!"

"Mr. Stark, their little gonads aren't even half the size of a kidney bean," Pepper pointed out, "And Queenie's ovaries are probably no more than peppercorns. _Minor_ surgery."

"Size isn't supposed to matter," he deftly countered, "and while I know _why_ it's being done I'm not exactly cheerleading the process. The thought of knives along that section of anyone's anatomy is cringeworthy."

"Noted," Pepper sighed. "I'll take them in if you'd rather not go, Tony."

"No, no," he muttered, "I'm the kitty daddy and I'll go."

Pepper moved closer to him, handing him the clipboard and pointing to the line near the bottom. She took advantage to murmur softly, "So far the press from the garage sale is supportive, and Mr. Kelley has gotten offers to be a guest auctioneer at a couple of state fairs. I think he's flattered."

"Good, good," Tony replied, "at least that worked out. Smog inspection---the big D isn't going to like that."

The car rumbled in agreement, and Pepper laid a hand on Diablo's back panel soothingly. "Looks like everyone in the basement is due to see the doctor. Maybe I better check _your_ records too, Tony."

"No, no,no,no—Not getting anything snipped and certainly not getting anything up my tailpipe. No."

"Says the man with a portable nuclear reactor imbedded in his chest," Pepper murmured serenely. "Getting a vasectomy along with the boys would be quite a show of solidarity, now wouldn't it?"

"Love them, but not willing to go quite _that_ far," Tony muttered. "Call me selfish, but no."

"Fair enough," Pepper responded. "We'll pass on the physical for now, and oh, and I have a small . . . request to make."

"Mmm?" Tony looked up from the clipboard at her and she couldn't quite meet his eyes, which he found both suspicious and arousing.

Demure Pepper always brought out his stalking instinct.

"I'd like to take Diablo for a drive this week."

Immediately the sound of _'I Can't Drive Fifty-Five'_ blared out of Diablo's speakers for a moment until Tony shot him a glare and the volume went down immediately. He turned back to Pepper, who was smirking. "Explain?"

"Is one required?" she countered coyly. "It's not as if you don't have a car or two to spare."

"I do, but this is a _special _car," he replied slowly, having fun drawing it out. "A car that we've just determined isn't street-legal. Where were you thinking of taking him?"

"Out," Pepper replied. "If the answer is no, just say so, Tony."

He put on a pout, batting his eyelashes at her in a flirtatious move that backfired when she burst out laughing. Amused himself, Tony ran a finger along Diablo's side panel. "Tell you what—you can take him. You can _drive_ him . . . if I can come along."

"Oh I don't think that would work," Pepper countered. "You think anyone going under eighty is repressed and an affront to your personal need for speed."

"True, because most of them are."

"Tony . . ."

"Look," he offered, "We'll get the kittens taken care of and leave them with the doc, and then take Diablo for whatever drive you want. I'll stay quiet and enjoy the ride, okay?"

Pepper stared at him, weighing the offer. She suspected that Tony knew very well what she was going to do, and the fact that he was willing to let her do it spoke volumes about both trust and something more.

Something beyond just being friends.

She drew herself up and nodded. "Okay."

"Okay? So . . . we have a date tomorrow?"

"It's not a date," Pepper corrected."We're going on an outing."

"Rrrrrright. An outing," Tony mouthed, trying not to smirk. "An ouuuutttting."

"Since we're going to need the cargo jet, then yes," Pepper replied serenely, "an outing. I'll make sure we have the clearance. Will that be all, Mr. Stark?"

"For now," he murmured softly, watching her go. As Pepper passed through the glass security door and up the steps, Tony shifted his gaze to Diablo, his glance keen and speculative. "You. You have some explaining to do."

_'Girls Just Want to Have Fun' _came from the car's radio speakers.

Tony snorted. "Sure, but why do I get the feeling this is a bit more than that?"

The music shifted to _'Suspicious Minds'_ and this time Tony rolled his eyes.

"Look, in all the years I've known Potts—and that's been several now—she's never shown the slightest interest in driving, racing or speed above and beyond its use to get me to some place on time. What's with the thrill of driving _you?"_

Diablo gave a low rumble, and very faintly, the sound of _'Born to be Wild'_ echoed through the garage, making Tony shake his head in disbelief.

*** *** ***

The desert out beyond Barstow was flat enough and far enough from civilization to suit Pepper; she had the jet lower Diablo on a cable platform, quietly directing the operation as if she'd been doing it all her life. Tony sat beside her in the car, whining a bit about how he could have carried Diablo out here in his Suit, and Pepper ignored him, one hand on the wheel, one hand on her headset.

"All right, set us down just here—" she directed firmly, "and thank the marine base for the clearance for me, Josh."

"No problem Miss Potts," came the amplified voice of the pilot.

Next to her, Tony looked out across the desert, his fingers twitching slightly in anticipation. He knew that the zero to sixty time for a 'Cuda was just under a minute, which for a manual car that wasn't bad, particularly a US non-racing model. He also knew that the top speed for the vehicle around him was about a hundred and forty if it was just off the factory floor and in prime condition.

The sentience though—that might change things, and Tony felt reasonably certain that Diablo would have a few surprises.

The cable platform met the desert floor with a flush of sand and dust; by remote, Tony unhitched the anchor bars and chains from around Diablo's chassis. The car rolled off the platform and halted about twenty yards from it as overhead, the cargo jet recoiled the platform up into its underbelly and the doors closed once it was inside.

The pilot spoke again. "All clear, have fun and watch out for coyotes."

"Will do, Josh, and thank you," Pepper called back before clicking the headset and taking it off her head. She handed it to Tony, who shot her a dry look.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Glove compartment I guess," Pepper replied absently as she placed the key in Diablo's ignition. "Do you have your seatbelt on?"

"Yes, mom," Tony quipped back, rolling his head towards her. "Will you just relax? I _have _been known to race a car or two in my day."

Pepper didn't even look at him. She wrapped her long fingers around Diablo's steering wheel, sighing gently. "Okay, Diablo. I'll let you handle the speed, but you've got to let me do the steering, okay? I've got to have _some _modicum of control here, otherwise I'll . . . well, I'll have a very hard time with it."

"She will," Tony chimed in. "Potts isn't a complete control freak, but she _is_ used to the reins of power."

Overhead the cargo jet was already a distant dot in the sky, and the bright sun of mid-afternoon blazed all around them through the untinted windows. Pepper took in a deep breath and squinted out through the windshield. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses.

Tony fought a pang of lust. Pepper in sunglasses was hot.

"Okay, let's . . . drive," she murmured. Smoothly, Diablo rolled out, the warm heavy rumble of his engine vibrating through the chassis, and Tony leaned back in his seat, smirking.

Then Diablo accelerated, and the jump slammed them both back into their seats as the car took off with all the fearlessness of a rocket.

Pepper cried out; not in fear, Tony realized a second later, but in delight. He shot a sidelong look at the woman, stunned at her crow of triumph. She was grinning, and _relaxed, _her grip on the wheel light and loose.

"All right Diablo, good start, good start! Now let's _really_ crank it, what do you say?"

Dumbfounded for a moment, Tony felt Diablo increase his speed yet again, and the rumble sounded organic now, in low panting. It was like riding a rocket tiger, and the speedometer was jumping past ninety while behind them they left a dust trail pluming as thickly as the tail of a comet.

"You're getting off on this!" Tony accused over the sound of the engine, feeling rattled on both the physical and emotional level. "Admit it!"

"Shhhhhh, just enjoy the ride!" Pepper called back, and turned her attention to the wheel. "Go, Diablo, Go!"

The car took Pepper at her word and roared on, racing up the long miles in a rumble of bounces and thrums as the frame shuddered in the speed. Inside, Tony was dimly glad for the seatbelt, and realized that for all his love of velocity, most of it had to do with being the one in charge of it. This passenger business wasn't nearly as much fun, although the look on Pepper's face quelled his urge to whine about it.

She was gorgeous, smiling, bouncing—he definitely liked the bouncing when it came to _her_--and in general, having the time of her life. A girl on a rollercoaster; a bareback rider on a bronco.

Tony bit his lips, feeling a rush inside himself that he couldn't define; couldn't avoid or dismiss anymore. There were no seatbelts for insight, though, and the tumble of feelings within his soul couldn't be neatly held back now.

"Pepper—!" he blurted. Before Tony could get a word out, the radio blared, the music so loud he could practically feel it on his skin.

Not rock this time, not even English. Confused, Tony stared at the radio grille, wondering why the hell Diablo was playing opera. Not playing it; blasting it in full stereo. Now Pepper looked confused, and glanced over at Tony.

"Why is Diablo playing _Celeste Aida_?"

"No fucking clue," Tony lied, cluing in immediately. The most romantic of all Verde's arias, the one where the warrior secretly in love with the slave girl sings about how he adores her and would win battles for her—

Shit.

The damned car had figured it out before _he _had.

Love.

He was in love with Pepper.

Not just lust, not just fun for the sake of fun attraction, or even friendship with benefits, but---

Tony slumped a bit, stunned, and let the seatbelt hold him down while Diablo warbled on and took a gradual turn to the right.

Pepper began to sing along with Jose Carreras, her hands expertly turning the wheel, and the sound of her voice mingling with the Italian tenor made Tony shut his eyes, overcome for a long moment.


	11. Chapter 11

The stars were out. Pepper leaned against Diablo and gave a contented sigh, looking up at the vast expanse of velvety sky above, dotted with pinprick diamonds. Tony followed her line of vision upwards, mildly awed by the enormity of the night sky above. Distant lights glowed dimly along the horizon to the southeast, and she figured that was the general direction of Las Vegas.

Pepper smiled. "Gorgeous, aren't they? We don't get to see them too often now, with all the light pollution."

"Yeah," Tony murmured in quiet agreement. He'd been quiet for most of the afternoon, and Pepper found that a little worrisome. She'd thought that racing along the arroyos and washes would have brought out the glee in Tony, but then again, maybe bouncing along in Diablo didn't compare to flight in the Suit.

"Do you recognize any constellations?" Pepper asked, having spotted the Big Dipper herself. Tony moved closer to her, his head tipped upward.

"There's the Cygnus Stinkus," he murmured, pointing. "Otherwise known as the Flatulent Swan. It's a gas giant."

Pepper giggled. "Tony!"

"And Orion's Boxers. They started as briefs but as you know, the universe is expanding."

"Riiight," Pepper shook her head. "I take it astronomy wasn't your strong suit in science."

"Over there is the constellation named for me," Tony continued solemnly, "Ego Major, the one with all the brightest stars glittering in it--"

"Tony," Pepper repeated, shooting him a bemused look. "Does everything have to be a joke?"

She watched him sigh and, deflate a bit. "No. I just . . . sometimes it's easier."

Pepper paused a moment, savoring the honesty of his reply. She knew after all their years together that Tony preferred to make light when he could, and that it was both habitual and defensive.

She also knew it wasn't necessary. Reaching down, Pepper interlaced her fingers with his, holding his hand gently but firmly. The quick return squeeze of his fingers was gratifying, and she smiled. "Diablo is sleeping."

Startled, Tony looked back at the car they were both leaning against, and the faintest sound of a rumbly snore. "Whoa. I guess we tired him out."

"It's possible. I doubt he's had a good workout in years, if ever," Pepper admitted. "Everything likes to run wild now and then."

"Now _that _sounds like a promising line," Tony murmured with a grin. "And given how you were driving this afternoon, I can well believe it. I thought you didn't _like_ going fast!"

"Yes, well it's a different matter when one's in the driver's seat now, isn't it?" Pepper replied smoothly. "It just so happens that once in a while I _like_ being in the driver's seat."

Tony gave her a sidelong glance. "Again, a loaded line, Miss Potts."

Pepper let that one hang in the air, but she squeezed his fingers again, and they both looked up into the night sky. Suddenly, the tiniest streak of a meteroid flared by, hardly more than a split second thread of white against the indigo night.

"Make a wish," Pepper urged him, her voice soft.

She watched him do it, wondering what he'd chosen. Pepper herself didn't make a wish—not this time. She'd spent the last few years wishing.

After a quiet moment, Tony opened his eyes and smiled at her. "What would you do in a moment like this if I _wasn't_ a world-famous billionaire playboy and superhero, Potts?"

She didn't need to think about it. Pepper turned to him, pinning Tony against the side of the car and molded her long body on his, pressing warmly as she brought her lips just under his ear, kissing softly.

The effect was gratifying in the extreme. Tony quivered, his hands coming around her back, big palms sliding up along her spine in a lingering caress. Pepper felt his arc press against her chest, and his hips rock ever so slightly under hers.

"I'd take you for a long slow ride out under the stars," she murmured into his ear, feeling her pulse start to hammer through her veins.

This wasn't like her normal self, Pepper knew, but something about his solemn question brought out that hidden inner longing. The moon, the night, the solitude and the afternoon of driving like a maniac all fed into this little act of courage on her part, and Pepper licked his skin just behind his ear, tasting Tony.

Tony gave a low rumble that sounded like his own version of Diablo. "Ummmmmm. Right now, I am NOT a world famous billionaire playboy superhero," he informed her. "I'm none of that, Pepper. Not here. Right this minute, I'm . . ."

"Mine?" she finished, rubbing her nose with his, breathing in the unforgettable scent of his skin. Tony had a unique bouquet of male pheromones, clean skin and an indefinable spice to his chemistry that had almost herbal tones. Catnip to women, Pepper had once thought.

"Yours," he agreed huskily. "Pepper—"

She didn't let him finish his next words, feeling anxious to cut them off. Pepper didn't want Tony to be noble, or to suggest caution or second thoughts. It wasn't a night for second thoughts; it was a night for slow, sweet abandon.

Pepper moved her lips along his throat, crossing the ticklish fur of his beard and moving up along his cheek. She felt Tony shudder against her, his hard body tensing in undeniable response to hers, and that sent a surge of gratification through her entire frame. Yes, Pepper realized, feeling slightly dizzy. Yes, Tony wanted this as much as she did.

Tony's hands along her spine pressed her closer, but he waited, and Pepper realized that he was opening himself to her seduction, letting her take charge.

That sent another thrill through her, and she reached his lips, barely brushing them with her own. "We were fast all afternoon," she whispered, her breath mingling with his. "Now it's time to go slow, Tony. Very . . ." she let her mouth press closer, "very . . ."

"Sllllllmmmmmm—" he agreed, kissing her.

Soft and hot, their mouths met in a surge of lovely mutual hunger, and Pepper felt conscious thought sear away in the eager desire flooding through her skin. The simple act of kissing Tony sent urgent jolts all through her body, jolts that flared to her nipples and between her hips.

She kissed him again, grateful for the delicious clash of tongues as Tony groaned in deep pleasure, the sound vibrating against her mouth.

_Good, good_ were Pepper's last deliberate thoughts, and then she let herself go, falling into the rush of instinct and moving from deep kisses to soft little ones and back again. Tony gave as good as he got, letting his mouth wander to taste her face lightly, kissing her chin and nose, licking from one corner of her lips to the other, purring before plunging into a tangle of tongues once again, driving the breath from both of them.

Pepper savored him. Tony was a feast; one she'd been hungry for a long time, and his lazy sensuality gave hers free reign as she set a deliberate pace. Hands began to wander, and Pepper slipped her fingers up under the back of his shirt, stroking the same muscles she'd often doctored.

The effect was gratifying when Tony gave a strangled groan at the dance of her nails along his skin. "Grrrnnnnnnnnghhh----"

"I've always loved the sight of your naked back," Pepper whispered into his ear before nibbling his lobe. This combination made Tony shudder in her arms, and his own tightened around her. Pepper felt his fingers toy with the hem of her tee-shirt, and she gave an encouraging purr that Tony acted on almost before she finished.

His hands were warm on her skin, and the glide of them along her spine made Pepper flex against him in a sweet press of body to body. Here in the mingling of personal space and breath and taste she felt molded to Tony and the urge to go further had her dizzy.

"Quilt . . . in the trunk," Pepper murmured, hoping Tony understood.

He did. Pulling her with him, he rolled them along Diablo's side panels, working them around to the back and kept one arm around Pepper as he popped the hood. Inside sat the magna-quilt in little scattered puffs.

Somehow, Pepper still had enough brain cells to snap her fingers, and the quilt assembled instantly, edges of each little puff firmly stuck to each other and rolled up.

Tony scooped up the tube of quilt, still clinging to Pepper, his body more alive than it had been in years. Higher thought had given ground to baser desires, and even though he wanted nothing more than to take charge of this lovely encounter, Tony forced himself to throttle back and let Pepper take charge.

He realized, dimly, that this amazing reversal had him nervous. Generally Pepper ran his professional life, and he ran his personal one, seductions being the foremost in the latter. But to have Pepper put the moves on him—lusciously wonderful moves too—made him feel like a horny teenager all over again.

A horny, _nervous_ teenager with that heady, terrifying blend of lust and uncertainty, and it was . . . thrilling.

"Pep—" he managed, only to have his words swallowed away by another shameless kiss. Tony didn't have to analyze it to know he'd been given permission, and a fresh jolt of hunger surged through him.

It wasn't easy to kiss and stumble away from Diablo but Tony managed as years of practice with impaired balance paid off. He found a smooth patch of ground a few yards off to the side of Diablo and flung the quilt down, letting it unfurl and land with a gusting of sand around the edges.

It amused him; a man who'd made love on some of the most expensive beds in the world was now thrilled out of his mind to lie on the hard desert floor with only a thin quilt for padding, all because of the woman in his arms.

Pepper. Pepper was worth more than anything he'd ever owned or acquired or built, and infinitely more precious. She kept him together before Afghanistan, and certainly afterwards as well, from her dainty hands to her stern looks and steady support.

She was real, Tony realized. That was what made Pepper his touchstone. Like Yinsen, she was utterly real in a world full of reflections and distortions.

Then she ground herself against him, and Tony stopped thinking. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and let himself fall onto the quilt, taking the impact and nearly laughing at Pepper's startled reaction.

"Tony! Are you okay?"

The best way to answer that was to kiss and feel her up, so Tony did.

They kissed and kept kissing. Lying down was the best position for kissing, and pretty soon it became necessary to shed clothing. Tony was all for that as well, and found himself shivering, not from cold, but from the sheer pleasure of seeing Pepper naked for the first time. The sight of her on the quilt, hair tangled, her eyes bright in the starlight had him at a loss for words.

She reached for him, knees coming up around his hips, her smile a delighted curve. "Tony," came Pepper's hungry whisper. "Please, I need you."

_Those _were the words, Tony realized. Not 'I love you,' or 'I want you' but the raw, sweet honesty of truth and desire mingled through so many years of their side by side intimacy.

"Oh God, I need you too, Pepper," he blurted roughly, and bent his face to lick the hollow of her throat. That made her arch up, and as she did so, Tony thrust into Pepper, grunting as the slick, searing squeeze of her left him momentarily breathless.

Her long, long legs wrapped around him, and tightened, pulling him deeper, and Tony thought he'd go insane with the thrill. Pulsebeat and thrust, rocking and groaning, the wild wet taste of her mouth, the flavor of her pleasured cries, and the heat of her tears as Pepper ran her fingers through his hair and begged him on, her hips corkscrewing against him in a wild rhythm of their own.

It couldn't last. Tony tried to draw it out, but his determination couldn't battle with the hard throbs of Pepper's orgasm as it clenched around his shaft in frantic pulses. Tony reared, thrusting hard, managing by sheer will to press his mouth to her ear. "G-G-God I LOVE you!" he managed, grunting as the tantalizing flare of sweet incendiary orgasm sent him gushing deep within her.

Getting dressed was cold, and Tony felt bad waking Diablo to get into the glove compartment for Kleenex, but Pepper wouldn't use his shirt to clean herself.

Diablo flashed his headlights and swung a door open sleepily, automatically setting his heater on. Tony retrieved the tissues and came back; Pepper shot him a look and he turned around.

"I don't see why I should," he argued, smirking. "After all, I do plan on revisiting the scene so to speak, and soon."

"Yes, well be that as it may, I'd like a hot bath first," Pepper told him as she stood and stepped into her panties. "Brrrrrr it's chilly!"

"Desert," Tony reminded her, coming back over and sliding his arms around her from behind. "I should buy it, just so we can always have it to remember tonight."

"You can't buy a desert, Tony."

"Bet I can," he retorted, smiling into the nape of her neck. "I have an unlimited power source in my chest, a living muscle car and the love of my life all within arm's reach, woman. I can do any damned thing I _want!"_

Pepper leaned back against him and laughed, the sound sweet as it carried on the still, cool air. "How about you start by calling up Jarvis and getting us directions home then?"

"I---" Tony looked around and grinned, "Can do that, sure. But I bet Diablo knows the way home, don't you, pal?"

Softly Diablo honked.


	12. Chapter 12

EPILOG

The lanky boy looked up, half-listening. He brushed the dark hair out of his eyes and impatiently looked at the car, waiting until the lecture died off.

"Okay, *okay* mom, I promise. I _know_ the rules, I know about discretion and all that jazz. Now can I please, please have the car tonight?"

"What's the first rule about Diablo?" she prompted teasingly.

The boy rolled his eyes, smirking."The first rule about Diablo is we don't talk about Diablo," he shot back, making his mother laugh. She let the amusement fade a moment, and then reached over to touch his cheek, feeling the scanty, soft stubble there.

"Just hang on a few minutes more . . . I'm pretty sure your father will be home and he'd like to see this, you know."

"You guys are soooo . . ." the boy chuffed, "Sentimental. Seriously, I'm taking Lien down to the grill and a movie; it's not even twenty miles round trip!"

"Max," she chided, "Just a few minutes more. Besides, Diablo is more than good about making up lost time," she sighed wryly, "believe me."

"The night I was born story _again?" _the boy smirked. "You know nobody really believes it. They all think dad souped Diablo up with some fancy rocketry and remotes. Not one person actually _believes_ the car did all the driving."

"With both of us in the back seat and me about to . . . pop you into the world? Diablo HAD to," she shuddered. "God, I wouldn't relive that part of the night for anything. Having *you* was the wonderful climax, but the lead-in left a LOT to be desired!"

It was, Pepper felt, the understatement of the decade.

"Is it true all three cats were with you too?"Max demanded.

"Yes," Pepper nodded, her mouth in a wry twist. "Oh yes. I had Jack wedged near my shoulder, Queenie yowling under the driver's seat and Ace riding shotgun in the passenger seat. Your father was—" She paused, not sure if she wanted to explain the bizarre position that has left her with one leg up against the back rest of the back seat and the other hooked around Tony's hip as he frantically pleaded with her to stop her from delivering the baby right then and there.

"Pre-occupied?" Max offered, and grinned. He looked so much like his father in that moment that Pepper felt her heart lurch.

Maximilian James Stark. Sixteen years old, with dark hair, freckles and long lanky limbs. Pepper didn't think she could love another person as much as she loved Tony Stark.

Max proved her wrong.

"Hey! Anybody home?" came Tony's cheerful call. He bounced down the stairs to the garage and pulled off his tie at the same time; Diablo gave a little muted honk of recognition, and from the heated cat bed, Jack, the lone survivor of the original trio, looked up, along with the new kitten Flush.

Tony took in the sight of his son leaning on Diablo's fender and sighed deeply; a surge of emotion welled up inside, but Max held up a hand, eyes bright. "Mom already gave me the entire lecture, complete with footnotes, a bibliography and a reading list, so . . . can I just go?"

"Sure," Tony nodded. "Diablo, curfew is twelve."

"Dad!" Max blurted. "It's a Friday!"

"You can stay out until one if you like," Tony agreed. "But the _car's _coming home by midnight, take it or leave it."

"Man," Max grumbled. "When *you* were my age you were partying until the sun came up."

"Look where it got me," Tony retorted cheerfully. "A party-boy screw-up who finally needed a hole blown in his chest to reconsider his priorities. You have—" he checked his wristwatch, "—six hours to put the moves on your date, so I'd get going if I was you, Maxinator my man."

The boy blushed, but gave his father a one-armed hug and caught the keys that Pepper tossed his way. Slipping into the driver's seat, Max whooped, turned the ignition and Diablo—pristine as ever, gleaming in the fluorescent light of the garage—roared to life.

_Forever Young_ blasted out of the speakers.

Pepper came over to Tony and slipped an arm around him; he tightened his own grip around her waist.

"You okay?" he murmured.

"Yes," she replied, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I feel a lot better with him in Diablo instead of one of the other cars."

Tony nodded. He turned his head and lightly kissed Pepper's forehead. "So, we're all alone tonight . . . we might have to find something to do."

She laughed. "All right, I can think of a few things."

"Good," Tony replied, his voice in that low and intimate register she knew so well. "But we need to get to sleep early you know. We've got garage sales to hit tomorrow."

Pepper groaned through her grin, and lightly punched his arm.

END


End file.
